


And A Ghost Will Follow You Home

by Yuripaws



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Ghosts, Alternate Universe - Victorian, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Beauty and the Beast Elements, Character Death, Disney References, Everyone is Dead, Falling In Love, Ghosts, Haunted Houses, M/M, Mutual Pining, Pining Katsuki Yuuri, Pining Victor Nikiforov, Slow Burn, Suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-23
Updated: 2017-06-23
Packaged: 2018-11-13 00:51:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 29,506
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11173572
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yuripaws/pseuds/Yuripaws
Summary: When Yuuri stumbles upon a magnificent and ominous mansion deep within the woods, the last thing he would ever expect is a warm welcome from a gracious Ghost Host.Disney's Haunted Mansion AU





	And A Ghost Will Follow You Home

**Author's Note:**

> Every time I ride Haunted Mansion, I picture Viktor as the Host lmao There are a lot of Beauty and the Beast elements in this, so it's a sort of fusion?
> 
> Also I tagged Major Character Death because almost everyone is dead? Does that count?
> 
> Well, we're in for a wild ride.
> 
> Please remain seated and keep your hands and legs inside the Doom Buggy at all times.
> 
> There's no turning back now...

He's blind.

He can't see a single thing through the nearly-solid sheets of rain drilling into his skin.

Vicchan shifts uncomfortably beneath him, but Yuuri urges him on. He has to get the both of them to shelter. Were the horse to blindly injure himself, they'd both be in serious trouble.

He tries to shield his vision with his flat cap, and despite the wind slanting the downpour, he can see a bit better. But not by much. 

Is that a gate? he thinks, squinting hard into the distance. Yes. And a pathway. Could somebody truly own property in the middle of the woods? Yuuri certainly can't imagine himself living in such a place. Just passing through it to and from the city had been too much for him to handle.

Of course, the fact that he's lost has a lot to do with that.

The path he had taken hadn't been his usual route from the city to his small town, but something about it had called to him. Something had made him feel as though this path were shorter, faster.

And he doesn't have a lot of time to spare. He needs to bring back the medicine he had fetched for his mother. The path had seemed frightening, but the woods were lovely, dark and deep, and before he realized it, he found himself drawn somewhere he's never been before. 

And then it had started raining. Of course.

Vicchan seems to read his thoughts, because he starts to strain forward towards the gates. They're made of black and imposing iron, and Yuuri thinks he spots gargoyles perched on the spiked posts.

Yuuri has already resigned himself to what is sure to be a dreadful experience. 

He can hear Vicchan's hooves beating against the cobblestone path over the sound of the storm, and from what he can see, there are neatly trimmed hedges on either side.

Someone must be maintaining this property. Someone wealthy, he's sure.

The thought has barely formed in his mind before he finally registers what he's riding towards.

The largest and most beautifully eerie mansion he's ever seen looms in the distance, and Yuuri finds himself torn between turning back or riding faster. He chooses the latter, and soon finds himself under cover.

He slides off of Vicchan, shuddering hard. He's got to go inside and collapse before a fire. He'll beg the Master of the house to grant him this one small mercy. Or else he'd catch his death out here.

"Don't worry," he tells Vicchan through chattering teeth, "I'll be back. I promise."

He knocks on the enormous oak doors frantically. The sound of the iron ring against the wood seems to reverberate inside his skull.

No answer. He tries again. Nothing.

He pushes forward cautiously, figuring that he ought to try all his options before giving up. The doors are unlocked, and they open so smoothly that for a second Yuuri has the insane thought that they had opened on their own.

When they shut hard behind him, he tells himself it's just the wind. 

He's in the middle of an impressive foyer, and there are portraits on the walls that Yuuri can't quite make out in the light of the low-burning chandelier. He's sure the Master of the house is among them, and he's suddenly very curious. What sort of person would live in a mansion like this?

But as he moves to take a closer look, the inner doors are thrown open.

"Is anyone there?" Yuuri asks nervously after a disconcerting silence.

No answer. Yuuri takes a deep breath. He doesn't know what else to do. He's about to call out again when he realizes that the flickering lights dancing upon the walls of the inner room aren't just from the chandelier and lanterns. Yes, he can hear the crackling of a fire, and he rushes forward without thinking.

He enters a lovely sitting room, and right before the blazing hearth, as though prepared for him, are a grand armchair and footstool. Yuuri ignores these, falling to his knees before the fire and rubbing his hands together. He's still shivering, but he can already feel the warmth soak beneath his drenched clothing. He removes his hat, trying to shake droplets from his hair. He'll be dry in no time, he thinks. He hopes, anyways, because Vicchan is still outside with the medicine for his mother. She'll be alright for now, he assures himself.

The rain hasn't let up, and he can hear it drumming against the grounds of the mansion from where he is. Yuuri isn't sure he wants to spend the night here. He's in the middle of rising to his feet, bracing himself and mourning the precious moments of dry warmth he has left, when a voice rings out and he nearly screams.

"Welcome, esteemed guest, to the Nikiforov Manor."

Yuuri is stunned. Should he thank him for his hospitality? Before he can properly panic, the voice continues.

"I can see that you're lost. Very well, then. I will be your host. Please, come in."

Yet another pair of doors swing open, with no one inside to have done so. Yuuri is still frozen and unsure. Should he bolt into the unrelenting storm outside, or should he stay here and make polite conversation with a disembodied voice? Neither of these options sound particularly attractive.

There's a silence that's nearly expectant, and despite Yuuri's mounting terror, he inches forward, eyes widened, looking for any sudden movement. He enters a circular room, lit in the dancing flames of candlesticks. Before he can properly register his surroundings, the doors shut behind him, and when he wheels around in surprise, they're gone. The doors are gone.

"Impossible," he whispers, trying his best not to panic again. Hidden doors, surely. Doors disguised as walls. Yes, of course. How brilliant.

"Our tour," the voice booms again, and Yuuri nearly bites his tongue as he flinches hard, "begins here, in this gallery. These are paintings of some of our guests as they appeared in their corruptible, mortal state."

Mortal? No, this can't be real. What does he mean by that? Yuuri had never agreed to be led on a cheerful and grand tour, but it appears that he has no choice. How is he supposed to escape? This room has no windows, and no doors.

He looks up at the paintings, unable to fight his curiosity. Previous guests. But who would ever willingly stay in a place like this? He sees a beautiful young woman, smiling sweet and looking delicate under the shade of her parasol. The next painting is of a stern-looking bearded man, holding an important-looking document and looking very proper. Could this be the Master? But why is he hiding?

He's turning slowly as he examines each portrait, and the next one he sees is of another young and smiling woman, holding a rose and looking very pleased with herself. The last one shows a man so confident he looks nearly smug, and Yuuri secretly hopes that this isn't the Master, because he looks very unpleasant.

It's too quiet. Something is wrong. He looks at the paintings again. Something is wrong. Very wrong. Are they moving? The voice speaks again, and Yuuri can hear a teasing undertone to his words.

"You're deathly pale, sir. Do you sense something disquieting? Or is it your imagination, hmm?"

Yuuri's eyes widen, because the portraits are most definitely moving, stretching, changing. There's more to each one, and he watches in horror as the rest of each painting is revealed.

What's finally exposed is a grotesque fantasy. The young lady with the parasol is balanced precariously on a fraying tightrope above the massive jaws of an alligator. The bearded man is standing atop a barrel of dynamite, the fuse lit and nearly hitting its mark. The smiling woman is sitting upon the large tombstone of her late husband, and the bust carved into the stone is split nearly in two by a hatchet. The smug man is sitting atop a the shoulders of two terrified men sinking into quicksand.

These would have been funny, the product of an imaginative artist with a cruel sense of humor, but Yuuri isn't amused, because he can suddenly feel their eyes on him, and he casts about wildly for a way out of this disturbing chamber. When his host speaks again, he starts to tremble.

"Looking for a way out? I'm afraid that isn't possible. Unless, of course, you'd like to try it _my_ way!"

Yuuri's startled scream is lost in a deafening clap of thunder, and the candlesticks are blown out, leaving the room in darkness. Yuuri doesn't dare breathe, but his body betrays him, because what he sees next in a flash of lightning has him gasping in terror.

There are windows, finally, but they're so far up the suddenly high ceiling that Yuuri doesn't even bother entertaining thoughts of escaping. But hanging in the dead center of the ceiling, rope tied taut about the neck, is a body. No, a corpse, hanging limply, nearly skeletal, in tattered red and gold finery. Before Yuuri can even scream again, lightning strikes once more, and the corpse is no longer hanging from its noose. The room plummets into darkness, and a bloodcurdling scream echoes through the gallery, cut short by a ghastly thud. Yuuri wants to wake up from whatever hellish nightmare he's been cast into, because he is rapidly losing his mind.

"Who are you?" he shouts, his voice nearly cracking. He hears low and sinister laughter in return.

"Oh, I didn't mean to frighten you. Who I am is of no concern to you. Come now, look alive. Our tour has just barely begun!"

There's something very sadistic and chilling about the voice's gleeful tone. Yuuri is terrified of finally seeing the face behind it.

A wall suddenly opens in the gravelly grumble of stone on stone to reveal a long and narrow hallway. Yuuri stares. There's no telling where this might lead him, but he knows that he can't waste away here in this inescapable chamber. There _has_ to be a way out.

The hallway has large windows, but Yuuri sees with dismay that they're heavily barred. Is there truly no escaping? The opposite wall has portraits as well, and Yuuri feels his heart race faster, because their eyes seem to follow him as he makes his way down the corridor. He has no idea where he's going, but he needs to keep moving forward. He can feel something creeping behind him.

He jumps at a sudden flash of lightning, and when he sees the portraits change in the blinding light, their features morphing into something sickening, he loses his composure and bolts.

The room he bursts into at the end of the hall appears to be a library. Yuuri has never seen so many books in his life. His heart nearly gives way, because ghostly glowing marble busts are perched on various shelves of bookcases and are staring straight into his soul. A trick of the light, surely. The lights of candles cast leaping shadows, and Yuuri hurries from this chamber, pretending he hasn't noticed the large ladder moving as though someone were on top of it and arranging books on a high shelf.

He hears a piano playing in the distance as he makes his way down the next corridor, and sure enough, there it is. Yuuri pales, because although he sees the keys rise and fall, there isn't anyone seated before it. Lightning flashes from yet another set of barred windows, and Yuuri jumps back as the shadow of a madly playing pianist casts itself across a blood-stained rug. No, this isn't real. He has to get out _now_.

He comes across a second corridor, but before he can sprint down the length of it, a candelabra lights up at the end of it. Or the middle of it, rather, because the hallway seems to stretch back infinitely. Yuuri freezes. The candelabra is floating, as though it's being held, but Yuuri is too far to see if anyone is actually there. He thinks he sees the vague shape of a tall and broad-shouldered man. Is it his host? Why isn't he speaking?

As if on cue, the figure disappears in a flash of blue eyes, so bright that Yuuri can see them from where he stands, transfixed, gaping at the candelabra still floating midair.

He wheels back around to continue down the corridor he'd already been in, and as he runs, the hallway seems to expand. To his surprise, he passes a small conservatory, though the plants and flowers are dead and withered. A coffin sits in the middle of it, but before Yuuri can even wonder why it's there, the lid cracks, and a decaying hand scrabbles against the wood as someone inside attempts to escape.

"Let me out!" the trapped guest yells, and Yuuri nearly rushes forward to help him when suddenly an impossibly large raven dives down to land on the lid, shutting it closed with a sickening crack. The bird turns to look at him, beady red eyes glowing menacingly, and Yuuri says a prayer for the poor guest as he flees.

The guest's shout seems to have awakened the inhabitants of this manor, because once Yuuri barrels down a larger hallway with doors on either side, he hears shrieks of terror, cries for help, maniacal cackling, and the doors rattle as they're pounded on from the inside. Yuuri's hysteria has reached its peak, and he does his best to keep his gaze forward, not wanting to look at the doors and possibly see what lurks behind them. He bursts into a room with long windows, and is surprised to see them unsecured. Is an escape possible? He jumps violently when someone speaks.

The sound of his host's voice nearly has him weeping with relief, because the sound of something familiar is better than the horrid things he's been hearing so far.

"Oh, do come back. Our guests are dying to meet you. You see, we have nine hundred and ninety-nine happy haunts here."

Yuuri suddenly feels as though he's been doused in freezing water, and he spins around, feeling something behind him, and is pinned in place by frigid blue eyes. He hardly has time to scream as a hand shoots forward to cup his chin, cold and tingling within his skin, _inside of him_ , and as those burning eyes bore through him, he hears his host's voice once more, so close that it's nearly an intimate whisper.

_"But there's room for a thousand."_

Yuuri opens his mouth to cry out, but it comes out as a wheeze, because something hits him hard, knocking him out of the host's grasp. He sees blue eyes widen in shock, and only has a moment to register how oddly human this reaction is before he's shoved even harder towards a window. Yuuri frantically tries to recall having ever ascended any stairs, because as he's pressed against the window, he sees how high up he is and panics. He tries desperately to throw himself away from it, but it suddenly shatters, and he feels a harsh wind sucking at him, drawing him out.

He looks up at the beautiful night sky, the stars twinkling brightly, and has a sudden irrational and badly timed thought.

It isn't raining anymore.

He plummets, screaming, and the last thing he thinks of before closing his eyes is his mother, and how he would ever bring her medicine to her.

He lands lightly on his feet and stumbles, astounded, his legs weak and shaking. What the hell had just happened? How had he survived that fall?

"You're welcome," a voice whispers in his ear. "Go. Hurry!"

Yuuri doesn't need to be told twice, and he bolts through the vast grounds, whistling sharply as he nears the gates. Vicchan gallops forward, and Yuuri scrambles onto his back, urging him forward as he clings to him for dear life. The previously closed gates throw themselves open, and Yuuri takes a brief moment to slow Vicchan to a trot after they race through, righting himself on the horse's back. He doesn't look back as they flee from the manor.

*

He stands there almost innocently, smiling pleasantly at him as though he hasn't a care in the world.

Master Viktor Nikiforov is not amused.

"Explain yourself."

"Well," the grinning ghost begins, "you were being awfully unfair-"

"I treat every guest equally," Viktor cuts him off, "and this one was no different. You have one more chance to convince me, Chulanont."

Phichit's smile flickers and fades, and he straights up nervously.

"Master, you drew this boy here for absolutely no good reason. He isn't the sort of soul we need, so why-"

"We don't have time to pick and choose," Viktor snaps. "We haven't the time for games. This will not happen with the next one. Have I made myself clear?"

Phichit bows deeply, hand over his once-beating heart.

"Yes, Master."

Viktor watches him exit his study, and he falls back upon his desk chair with a weary sigh.

What the hell had happened?

This mortal. Viktor had felt an intruder within less than a mile of the manor's radius. He knew the type. Nobody pure of heart came this deep into the woods. Thieves, murderers, those hiding from retribution. Wretched mortals. Viktor had reached out to him, drawing him nearer, and when he was close enough, he had realized it. Phichit was right. This isn't the type of soul they needed. So, why? Why had he wasted his time? He grudgingly admits to himself that he had put in a little extra effort in scaring this boy. Why?

He stares at his hand. He concentrates hard until it's nearly solid, then flexes his fingers.

Warm. The boy had been so warm, and Viktor had felt it. Why?

Whatever the case, the boy is gone, and they would have to wait for the thousandth again.

*

Yuuri's mother recovers quickly within the next week, and despite his relief, Yuuri has to put on a facade around his family. His mind feels as though it had been shattered, and he's desperately trying to immerse himself back into his ordinary life in the hopes that he can salvage the pieces of his sanity. He tries not to dwell on what had happened, preferring to forget it altogether, but he can't.

He doesn't think of gruesome paintings. He doesn't think of candles, of books, of shrieking and pounding.

He thinks of blue eyes.

How human they had seemed, wide with surprise as Yuuri was ripped away.

That had been his host. The Master of the manor, most likely. And he was most certainly not alive.

A ghost. He repeats this in his mind, hearing the word over and over until it no longer sounds real.

A ghost. Several ghosts. A haunted mansion.

Blue eyes. Human eyes.

When he wakes the next morning, he knows exactly what he's going to do.

*

"Master."

Viktor looks up from where he's writing away at his desk. His second-in-command is in the doorway, scowling at him. Viktor fights down a grin.

"Yes, Yuri?"

Yuri approaches, throwing himself down into a chair in front of the desk, leaning back to prop his feet up on top of Viktor's parchment. Viktor gives him his sweetest smile, earning him a greater scowl. It makes Yuri angry to have his effort towards being rude ignored, so Viktor tends to do it often.

"Do you have something to report?" Viktor tries to sound patient and polite. The last thing he needs is an ill-tempered brat exploding around his study.

"He's returned."

Viktor drops his fountain pen. He?

"Who?"

"That mortal. The one you put the fear of God into."

If Viktor had a heart, it would be pounding hard right now. The boy is back? _Back?_ Is he _mad?_

"I see," he says almost absently. "Prepare the manor. We will get our thousandth soon. Don't disappoint me."

Yuri scoffs, slipping out of his chair and making a very rude gesture at him before leaving. Viktor smiles fondly at him as he goes.

Viktor fades from view now, ascending through seemingly endless floors until he reaches the highest room. He can easily see the pathway leading from the gates out of the tall windows. He winces slightly in the sunlight. The boy had been smart to come during the day. Nobody in the manor has the same amount of strength at this time. But they have strength in numbers, and Viktor's determined to break this curse.

His train of thought is suddenly derailed, because he sees the boy at the gates. He's atop his horse, looking unsure and hesitant. He presses onward despite this, looking up at the manor with widened eyes and a dropped jaw. Yes, Viktor thinks with a sudden and ridiculous sense of pride, it _is_ a splendid sight during the day. The boy turns his head towards his window without warning, and their eyes meet. Viktor knows that there's no way the mortal can see him, but he feels frozen on the spot, and doesn't move until the boy looks away and continues towards the doors. Viktor wonders if he ought to be a good host and greet him.

Yes, he'll be an excellent host this time around.

*

The doors open before Yuuri can even touch them. He'd been expecting that. He's gone mad enough to accept that doors do whatever the hell they want in this mansion. He steps in cautiously, waiting for the disembodied voice of his host to call out to him. Despite his anticipation, he still jumps when he hears it.

"Welcome back, esteemed guest. We pray that your stay here today is extended."

Yuuri feels the first surge of fear. Why had he come here? He nearly turns to run out of the doors, but they shut hard behind him immediately.

"Our tour was cut so tragically short when you were last here. There's so much more to show you."

Yuuri hears a familiar low rumble of laughter, and it makes him shiver. A set of doors he had never noticed before swings open, and the corridor inside is just as ill-lit and ominous as the one he'd entered the day before. He swallows hard as he edges towards the doors, and he's not at all surprised when they creak shut behind him.

Alright, he tells himself, you're back where you were before. Willingly. Because you're a madman, apparently.

He _will_ find a way out. He had before, and he will again. He's halfway down the hall when he remembers that he hadn't escaped on his own. He'd gotten help. Who? Why? And will they save him again? He has a feeling that he knows the answer to that question.

The lanterns on the walls burn bright enough for him to see even more ghastly and morphing portraits beneath them, the play of light and shadow making them seem even more grotesque.

Yuuri screams and flinches hard at the sound of chiming, and wheels around to see an impressively carved oak grandfather clock. A new hour already? But as he watches, he sees that every number has been replaced with the number thirteen. Devil's luck. 

The hands are whirring rapidly around, and in the wrong direction. A prop. A trick. Not real. The product of yet another person with creative hands and dark humor. He retreats, leaving the maddening ticking behind him.

He stops dead in his tracks at the sound of distant laughter. He strains to hear it without moving closer, not wanting to be noticed by any of these hellish guests.

Laughter and singing. Voices. Merriment. What sort of joy could ever endure in such a dreadful place?

"We find it delightfully unlivable here in this ghostly retreat, I assure you," the voice of his ghost host rings out, as though reading his thoughts. He certainly sounds delighted. Yuuri finds himself strangely comforted by his voice. But it's fading into the distance as though its owner were continuing down the hall. Yuuri suddenly feels very alone, and so he follows.

"Our guests have sensed your fear," the voice goes on, "and many are sympathetic and now welcome you warmly. They never meant to frighten you, dear mortal."

Yuuri very much doubts this. Either that, or these guests have a skewed view of what's considered frightening. But he certainly knows what _he_ considers frightening, and he feels it now at his host's next words.

"I'm afraid you'll have to be on your own for a little while. The guests are gathering for a swinging wake, and they'll be expecting me. I'd hate to miss a faithful companion's deathday party."

His host's laughter travels down the hall, but as Yuuri increases his pace, it fades away completely. Yuuri moves faster, and this time his determination makes it easier for him to ignore the shifting portraits and banging doors on either side of him. Wake? Deathday? Party? What the hell does any of that mean? The voices are growing closer and closer, and Yuuri pauses for a moment in front of the marble steps descending towards a large set of ballroom doors before he stifles a yelp and ducks behind a rusted suit of armor. Translucent figures pass through solid wood, floating and cackling gleefully.

Ghosts. They're real. He had known this, but he sees them, and he panics. _Ghosts._

He waits until the last of them are out of sight before sneaking back down the corridor. He doesn't know where he means to go, but he knows that it isn't here. He suddenly notices a set of rickety-looking stairs, and stops. He could have sworn that this had not been there just a few minutes earlier. He hesitates, but then quickly makes up his mind as he hears another peal of laughter in the distance. 

He treads carefully up the rotting wood, testing each step gingerly as he makes his way up. There's a balcony overlooking the grand ballroom, and Yuuri would have admired its grandeur had it not been for the ghosts. So many of them. Yuuri tries his best to remain hidden as he crouches behind the banister, peering through its gaps to watch.

It really does seem to be a party. A large cake lit with tiny candles sits in the middle of a long table, and a group of ghosts surrounds it, singing and cheering. Now that Yuuri can properly see the guests of this manor, he examines each one carefully.

The man sitting directly in front of the cake seems to be the center of attention, and Yuuri assumes that his is the birthday being celebrated. No, _deathday_. Right. He squints, trying to make out his features. He appears tall and well-built, with cropped hair that Yuuri thinks may be blonde. Yes, blonde, and he can see ghosts nearly solidify every so often, losing their deathly blue glow and seeming almost alive. Almost.

Yuuri's eyes dart back and forth, nearly unable to follow, because there are just so many of them. He sees the somewhat solid shape of a young man, dark of skin and hair, and his smile is dazzling. A very serious-looking ghost floats by aimlessly, a large and transparent wolf padding along beside him. There's a very loud and arrogant-looking spectre hanging from the enormous chandelier, swinging and bellowing with laughter. A gruff ghost sits quietly at the table, a shovel in hand, and Yuuri thinks he may be dressed like a groundskeeper. He spots a couple sitting atop the high mantle of the fireplace, one with ruby-red hair and the other an olive-skinned beauty. He watches as the redhead takes her companion's hand, kissing it, and the other woman laughs, reaching forward to embrace her. Yuuri blushes and looks away. Affectionate couples make him feel awkward, for some reason.

There are so many more, and Yuuri now realizes that the Master of the house is supposed to be among them. The voice. His ghost host. But, where? Which of these phantoms could he possibly be?

His search is in vain, because no one stands out from the crowd in particular. He can't be that small and timid violinist in the corner, or the man romping about with a shaggy and floating dog, or the old and severe-looking man playing the organ mournfully. So where can he be? Yuuri feels abandoned, and he wishes he knew how to call out to his host. Can he read minds? Yuuri concentrates very hard, but nothing happens. Well, at least he had tried.

He looks again. No, too many. He should turn back. Continue on his way. Wherever that may be. The balcony stretches across the length of the ballroom, ending in another endless corridor. Yuuri is quite sick of hallways, and if he never sees one again, it would be too soon. Still, he creeps towards it, deciding that going back down the stairs would get him nowhere. He crouches, checking the gaps in the banister as he passes, making sure no one spots him. He prays that the ghosts shooting rapidly across the ceiling don't look down at him. He ought to hurry. But he pauses, because he catches sight of one of them again.

It's the man with the dog. He's laughing, tousling the dog's brown fur as it rears up on its hind legs to lick at his face. Yuuri wonders why the man's hair isn't as solidly colored as the rest of him before he realizes that it's silvery, shining in the light of the many candles. As the man turns, Yuuri can see his face more clearly, and he feels his own flush hard. He's very handsome, and he has the most stunning-

Eyes. Blue eyes.

Yuuri scrambles the rest of the way towards the hallway, his heart racing. No, it couldn't be. The man looks so young. Yuuri had expected an intimidating older man, dark and looming like a hellish nightmare. 

This man is handsome, yes, and his smile is fresh, his laughter sweet, and Yuuri can somehow hear it above the din, so unlike the host's sinister chuckle, and yes, he hears it as though it were coming from right beside him. He shivers, turning away and bracing himself for the next horrifying gauntlet. He thinks he can still hear the man's laughter as he goes.

He comes across yet another set of stairs and nearly growls in frustration. He's got no choice but to climb up it, because he sees a far wall at the end of the hallway. A dead end. Of course. He reaches the top and pauses for a moment, because this room is so cluttered that Yuuri guesses that he must be in an attic. But how has he gotten this high up? It doesn't seem possible. Then again, Yuuri is rapidly losing his concept of what is.

He can't help but poke around curiously. He grabs up one of the lanterns hanging on the wall and steps closer to examine the many heaps of items. They seem to be mostly gifts, though they're rusted or falling apart. He sees a beautiful dress that's stained, the lace frayed and moth-eaten. There are personal items and mementos that Yuuri figures are better off left alone. This is clearly a storage room for a happily married couple, and he feels like an intruder. He's fretting and wondering where he ought to go after leaving the attic when he notices the many portraits around the room. They're oddly pristine, and Yuuri imagines that he can reach out and feel the paint, still wet and oily.

The bride is beautiful, blonde with piercing green eyes. There's something dark in her expression despite the artist's obvious attempts to make her appear softer. The man is older, far older, but he's smiling kindly. Yes, a happily married couple. But when he turns to look at the next portrait, he frowns. Perhaps they hadn't been such a happy couple after all, because the same bride is standing beside a different groom. Her expression is even darker, but she looks stunning in her new wedding dress and rich pearl necklace. The third painting is of a completely different man. The bride's expression is dark, but there's a sort of cunning look to it now, and she's adorned with even more extravagant jewelry. Yuuri continues to hold his lantern up to each painting despite his mounting disquiet. By the time he's in front of the last portrait, the bride's smile is absolutely wicked.

Yuuri needs to leave. _Now._

He's barely even taken a single step when a low voice hisses directly behind him.

_"Here comes the bride."_

Yuuri flings himself forward, turning in horror and seeing that he'd made a smart move, because the whistle of the hatchet through the air is almost enough to make him faint.

The bride is a ghastly shade of blue, but her green eyes still burn bright.

"In sickness and in... wealth," the bride says with a smirk. "Well? Are you wealthy? Have you come to propose next?"

Yuuri can hardly answer, backing up as fast as he can, but terrified of turning away from her.

"I-I, wha- please, l-let me-"

The bride looks disgusted as she sneers at him. Yuuri thinks she looks a little disappointed.

"Pathetic. Get out."

Yuuri's eyes widen. Is she letting him go? Her features start to morph into something that makes his insides curl up, and he whirls around to barrel down the stairs. He doesn't even care if the dancing ghosts in the ballroom notice him as he flies across the balcony and into the other corridor, racing for the exit. He doesn't doubt that the doors are still shut and immovable, but he doesn't have time to think. Or care.

The guests come to life in their rooms, howling and screeching and cackling, and for an insane moment, Yuuri feels the urge to laugh with them, to scream and pound on the doors in return, to frighten them as much as they've been frightening him.

To his immense shock, the doors fly open at his touch, and the grand doors leading outside do the same. Vicchan is already waiting nervously, and Yuuri hops up onto his back. For some inexplicable reason, he pauses to look back up at the mansion. He feels something tugging at his brain, something he's forgotten to do, but Vicchan snorts and stamps his hooves, and Yuuri snaps out of his daze as they race back towards the woods and as far away from this hell as possible.

Yuuri is nearly home by the time he remembers what he's forgotten.

He hadn't said goodbye to his host.

*

Viktor is trying so very hard to be patient. To be composed. To not absolutely lose his mind and strangle his younger brother to a second death. It's difficult. _Very_ difficult.

Yuri is slouching against the outer doors, staring at the trees that the mortal had retreated into for dear life. He's still in his tattered and blood-stained wedding dress, and his shining adornments look tarnished and cracked in the light of the evening sun. Viktor sees him smirking.

"Answer me," Viktor says again, trying to stop his voice from trembling with rage. "Tell me why you let the mortal escape."

Yuri laughs, gesturing towards the woods. "You want him? Go and get him."

"You know that I cannot do that. None of us can." Viktor is shaking now, although he can't quite put a name to this emotion. "Answer me. I will not ask again."

"He's too soft," Yuri says with a shrug. "It didn't feel right. It felt as though we were cheating. You know he isn't the right ty-"

"I know that," Viktor cuts him off, "but would you rather the alternative?"

Yuri continues to stare into the distance, his expression now vacant.

"Is it harder for you?" he asks absently. "How long does it take you? To seem almost human."

Something in his voice makes Viktor's rage evaporate, and his shoulders sag in resignation. The boy is gone and any anger beyond this point is a waste of time. He looks down at his hand, flexing his fingers. He doesn't have the energy to concentrate very hard. He had wasted his energy appearing solid and real in the ballroom, because he had known that the mortal had been watching. He considers this and the fact that it hadn't made any sense. His power should be used to frighten the boy. But instead he presented him with charming smiles and carefree laughter. Why?

"I don't want to discuss that now."

Yuri shrugs again, turning from the doors and back into the manor. Viktor looks up at the darkening sky and wonders how much time they have left.

*

"Where are you going now?"

Yuuri freezes, one foot out the door of their cottage. His sister has her hands on her hips, and she's looking at him so suspiciously that Yuuri feels as though he's committed several crimes.

"Er. Out." Yes, obviously. "I-I mean, I'm riding to the city. It's nothing to worry about, Mari."

"The city? Again? It's hardly been three days. What's in the city that has you running back so often, boy?"

Yuuri blushes, and Mari's eyes light up immediately.

"Oh, I see! Courting young and beautiful cityfolk? Ah, you're blushing hard, brother. There's one in particular, isn't there?"

Yuuri tries his hardest not to picture blue and smiling eyes. Mari sends him off, shoving a bouquet of lovely flowers from their garden at him and insisting that this is the best way to steal a young lover's heart. Yuuri doesn't see how presenting someone with plants will make them love you, but he takes them anyway before he rides into the woods.

He had made sure to arrive even earlier this time. The sky had been growing dark when he last fled, and he doesn't want to make that same mistake again. The morning sun is bright and warm, and he and Vicchan make their way down the sunlight-dappled path towards the mansion.

He doesn't feel quite as afraid as he spots the gargoyles atop the iron gates. They seem to greet him now as he rides past. The road seems lovelier than before, and the shrubbery surrounding it looks brighter somehow, more colorful. He thinks he can hear birds singing and splashing in the waters of the beautiful fountains. He dismounts, letting Vicchan graze as he approaches the doors. They open, and when Yuuri enters, he realizes that he's still holding the bouquet. He isn't sure what to do with them, so he glances around, hoping to find a vase. He sees several in the foyer, but the flowers are withered. He'll replace them, he decides. At least there would be one living thing in this manor, aside from himself.

He takes a single step forward before he feels a chilling cold strike through him. He gasps and nearly stumbles, shivering and looking about wildly. There's no one around.

"Hello?"

His voice echoes slightly, then dies out. Then, silence. Yuuri fidgets, not wanting to move. He doesn't want to feel that icy cold seep into his bones again. The last time he had felt that, he-

His eyes widen. The last time he had felt that, his host had been right in front of him. He turns quickly, just in time to see him.

It's the same silver-haired man. His smile has been replaced by a hard frown, and his eyes are alive with hellfire, so solid and human despite the translucency of his body. He's much taller than Yuuri, broad-shouldered and imposing as he looms over him.

" _You,_ " he says sternly. "You refuse to die."

Yuuri gapes at him.

"I... I'm sorry?"

He really is sorry he isn't dead, because he feels like a child being scolded for not behaving properly.

"You refuse to die," the host repeats, and he suddenly seems a bit sullen. "You keep returning to this manor, but you refuse to die."

"I-I," Yuuri stutters, his mind going blank, "I'm sorry, I-um, I don't know how, I've never done it before, I-"

"Come with me," his host cuts him off, turning towards the inner chambers. Yuuri is astounded. Is he going to die? What is happening? Why is his host here? Visible? Close?

The host turns back around impatiently, then pauses. Yuuri realizes that he's eyeing the bouquet he's still clutching desperately. He trembles as the man approaches, and when he grabs up the flowers, Yuuri nearly faints.

The host examines them, the look on his face too odd for Yuuri to understand.

"White lilies," the man says, and Yuuri swears he sees the corners of his mouth twitching, "and an even number of them. Flowers for the dead."

Yuuri pales, stricken, and holds up his hands in a frightened gesture.

"N-no! I didn't- I hadn't meant to, I'm, er," he thinks he ought to stop speaking now, because the host's eyes are boring into his skull. Yuuri watches as he lays the flowers almost gently on the nearby table, and when he walks away briskly, Yuuri remembers that he's supposed to follow him. Against his better judgement, and his inner voice screaming at him for being a fool, he does so.

He enters the room where he had once desperately sought the warmth of a fire, and the sight of it still blazing is somewhat comforting to him. His host is already making his way towards the gallery when Yuuri blurts something madly.

"Are you the Master of this mansion?"

The ghost freezes, then slowly turns back to face him. Yuuri can't read his expression.

"Yes," he says after a lengthy pause, "I am."

Yuuri scrambles for something else to say, though he has no idea why. He fails at this attempt, and sees his host start to look impatient again.

"Come along, mortal."

 _Mortal._ The word makes him shudder.

They pass into the gallery now, and the stone wall grinds shut behind them. Yuuri has given up all hope of retaining his sanity. He glances at the portraits, and the woman sitting atop the grave of her late husband catches his eye. That hatchet. Those pearls. Could it be?

The host is already striding across the room to the far door, and as Yuuri follows, he sees the man glance up. Yuuri's eyes track his gaze. He spots the hanged man, still dangling limply from the ceiling.

"Coward," the host mutters, turning away to continue towards the corridor. Yuuri doesn't have time to react, because they now enter the narrow hallway, and Yuuri is relieved to see that it isn't quite as frightening in the daylight. The windows are still heavily barred, and he looks away from them, feeling strangely bittersweet. The portraits on the opposite wall aren't very intimidating, either. They're still horrid, but Yuuri doesn't feel threatened anymore.

His host pauses in the middle of the library as Yuuri trails in behind him, hands behind his back, straightening up and looking very intimidating. Yuuri fidgets under his gaze.

"Since you will not die, mortal, I have no choice but to give you a more... _personal_ tour." His half-smile looks very foreboding. "I pray that you may change your mind and stay with us a little longer. We do so try to treat our guests kindly."

Yuuri is at a loss for words, so his host continues. He gestures grandly around the library. The stone busts are no longer glowing, and the ladder is still. Yuuri wants to look around, perhaps open one of these ancient and nearly-crumbling books to see what secrets they may hold, but his host is apparently ready to move on.

"Don't stray behind, mortal, you-"

"My name is Yuuri," Yuuri says quickly before clamping his mouth shut. What is he doing, talking back to an apparition that may or may not kill him?

The host stares at him. Something in his expression shifts, nearly imperceptible.

"Yuuri," the host says slowly, and something about the way his name rolls off the man's tongue sends a jolt down Yuuri's spine. 

"And your name?" Yuuri wants to slap some sense into himself, because his forwardness is most likely increasing the approach of his impending death. 

The host looks at him sharply, and the pause that follows is longer. He finally speaks, though he does so very grudgingly.

"Viktor. Viktor Nikiforov."

Viktor. What a human sounding name. Yuuri keeps it close to his heart; a reminder that this is real, and that he shouldn't be afraid of something human.

The sound of a piano playing softly echoes down the corridor as they continue, and Yuuri braces himself. He had tried to forget all the horrors he had seen here, but retracing his path is awakening repressed memories. He expects to see nothing but the shadow of a man seated before a grand piano, but he's surprised to see an actual figure.

Well, sort of. The man looks very transparent in the sunlight streaming through the windows. His playing is slow and gentle, and his hands come to a delicate rest as he notices them. Yuuri can make out brown hair tied back, thick eyebrows, and an easy smile.

"Good morning, Leo," Viktor says, and Yuuri is shocked to hear him sound so pleasant, "you're out rather early."

"Inspiration struck," Leo replies in a lazy drawl, seeming entirely unlike the madman Yuuri had seen playing before. "I composed this piece myself. Would you like to hear it, Master?"

Yuuri finds that he wants to, but Viktor speaks before he can say anything.

"I'm afraid not. We've a lot to do. Come along, Yuuri."

Leo smiles politely at them as they go, and the sound of delicate keys starts up again behind them. Yuuri trails behind Viktor, his mind racing. This doesn't make any sense. Why is the manor so different? It had been a never-ending nightmare before, but now it seems welcoming. And he's just seen his first guest. How many others will he meet, and will they be just as friendly?

He recognizes the long hallway in which he had first glimpsed his host. The floating candelabra is nowhere to be found. Yuuri slows, unable to stop himself from staring. This is where he had first seen blue eyes.

"Was that you? Uh, that night, I mean." 

Viktor turns back to face him, giving the hallway no more than a cursory glance before shrugging.

"Yes." He promptly continues on his way.

And? Yuuri thinks, staring at his back. He has a feeling that he's going to be receiving quite a few vague answers for the rest of the tour.

Yuuri trembles as they make their way towards what he recalls is the conservatory. He wants to keep asking Viktor questions, but his train of thought halts as he sees a figure tending to the plants. The garden is much larger than it had appeared at night, and there's a surprising amount of living greenery within the glass walls. The ghostly figure is currently watering a patch of flowers, but he straightens up and smiles eagerly at their approach.

"Good morning, Master!" he says, then inclines his head towards Yuuri. "Welcome, guest. It's a pleasure to meet you. I am Emil."

His figure is just as thin as Leo's had been in the sunlight, but Yuuri can see a short beard and blue eyes. Not as impressively blue as Viktor's, though. Yuuri is about to respond when a loud caw erupts nearby. It's the raven, Yuuri realizes, but it seems less threatening now. It fixes him with beady black eyes, and Yuuri nearly sighs in relief that they aren't red and glowing. The bird is perched on the coffin placed very conspicuously in the center of the garden, and Emil notices the look of fear that flickers across Yuuri's face.

"I'm very sorry about that gruesome show, guest. Master's orders. Though, I admit that it was rather fun!"

Yuuri shoots Viktor a look, but the ghost does nothing but smile politely at him. So, his host had given specific orders for the guests of this manor to frighten him in the worst ways possible. But why? What is the point of all this? He frowns to himself as Viktor leads him down a larger hallway, and Yuuri feels sick to his stomach as he recalls screaming and pounding, because suddenly the walls are lined with a seemingly endless amount of doors.

But nothing happens.

The doors are still, and any sounds Yuuri strains to hear are soft and private--tenants going about their daily lives behind the privacy of closed doors. How strangely ordinary this corridor seems now. Viktor turns to him, and Yuuri is amazed to see him smiling warmly as he gestures grandly towards the many doors.

"The residents of this mansion have heard much about you, Yuuri. They're _dying_ to meet you."

Yuuri wonders how many more death-related puns he'll have to endure today.

He can't help but jump back when the first guest emerges, and it takes him a few moments to realize that he'd opened the door rather than floating through it. He considers this more for a moment. He had seen Viktor holding the bouquet, Leo playing the piano, and Emil tending to the garden. Just how solid are they? How much can they feel, if they feel anything at all? How strong are they?

Yuuri suddenly remembers the cold and hard wind that had sent him stumbling out the window so many days ago. He shudders.

The ghost approaches, and Yuuri immediately recognizes him as the one who had been celebrating his deathday the last time Yuuri had been here. His face is clearer up close, and his eyes are a lovely shade of green, glinting with mischief as he eyes the two of them.

"Hmm," he says, rubbing at his stubbled chin, "good day, Master. What have we got here? Is this the mortal you keep going on and on about?"

Viktor had been beaming at him, but his smile falters now, and if ghosts could blush, he'd be doing so this very moment. Yuuri glances back and forth between them, uncomprehending.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Viktor says curtly, then cuts off the other man before he can speak. His smile is firmly plastered to his face again, though his eyes are glaring daggers at him.

"You ought to introduce yourself to our newest guest."

"Of course!" The man reaches for Yuuri's hand, and Yuuri is surprised to feel something icy and nearly real lift it towards the man's face. His eyes glint again as he presses a chaste kiss to it, and Yuuri tries hard not to shiver, but it's such an odd sensation. Are all ghosts this cold?

 _"Enchanté._ I am Christophe," the ghost continues, "Master Nikiforov's most loyal and trusted companion." Yuuri thinks he hears Viktor scoff behind him. Christophe ignores him. "It is my greatest... _pleasure_ to meet you, dear mortal."

"His name is Yuuri," Viktor says absently. Yuuri looks back at him in surprise, but Viktor looks away. He looks almost embarrassed at his outburst. Christophe seems delighted at this.

"Come, now," he says brightly, turning and beckoning to them, "don't you want to meet the others? Leave this dreary guide behind."

"Dreary?" Viktor looks affronted. "I am _not_ dreary!"

"Oh?" Christophe bats his lashes coyly at him. "Prove it, my dear friend. You wouldn't want to bore Yuuri, would you?"

Yuuri doesn't think anything in this mansion could ever bore him, but Viktor seems determined now. He pushes past Christophe to lead them briskly down the hall, and something about his aura must have reached out, because suddenly doors open, and Yuuri sees a few heads poke out curiously through walls. Yuuri recognizes a few of them from the ballroom. He shrinks back as the first approaches him, a heavy-set elderly man with a severely stern face. Yuuri recalls the ghost playing the large organ at the deathday ball. Is this the same man?

"And what are you playing at, bringing this _mortal_ here, Nikiforov?" he asks in a low growl. Viktor's beam is very genuine this time.

"Ah, my dear Yakov, you will refer to me as _Master_ Nikiforov. Understood?"

Yakov grinds his teeth in rage, but Yuuri sees him back down and retreat, grumbling about brats and ill-mannered imps. Viktor watches him go, almost fondly.

Many more spectres rush forward to greet him, and Yuuri has lost track of who is who before Viktor clears a path for them to continue. Yuuri bids the last pair of guests--Mila and Sara, the couple he had seen at the party--goodbye, and they smile and wave after him.

"My, you certainly are popular," Viktor says with a small smile. Yuuri blushes, earning him a strange look. Yuuri can't quite meet his gaze. There's something about Viktor's smile that makes him very nervous. 

"Is there a reason why everyone is suddenly so kind to me?" he blurts. He tenses as he waits for his host's answer, not daring to look at him. 

"Well," Viktor says slowly, and Yuuri feels as though he's stalling, not eager to answer this question, "frightening you didn't seem to work."

"Work?"

"Yes," Viktor says even more slowly. "If we cannot frighten you to death, perhaps we can charm you into staying here. Permanently."

Yuuri's head starts to spin. Death? Charm? _Permanently?_

He wants to run and hide, but they've entered a room already, and the doors shut swiftly behind him. Yuuri trembles hard as Viktor eyes him. He looks puzzled, nearly worried.

"This isn't going as I had planned," he murmurs, more to himself than to Yuuri. Yuuri doesn't know if he should respond. Before he can make up his mind, he yelps loudly as thunder claps just outside the window. 

It's started raining. Hard. Yuuri had somehow been too afraid to notice. It drums heavily against the windows, and Yuuri suddenly feels it spraying at him. His eyes widen as he turns to face one window in particular.

The broken window he had been shoved out of.

Yuuri's mind is in a whirlwind of panic, weighing his options frantically. Viktor doesn't seem to notice. He continues to frown at nothing in particular. Lightning flashes, blindingly bright, and the thunder that follows nearly throws Yuuri off balance.

He needs to leave. Why does he keep returning? Viktor is clearly deciding which way to murder him, and how gruesome it ought to be, Yuuri is sure. He looks at the window. At the gale picking up speed just outside. He's taken one trembling step towards it before everything seems to happen at once.

Viktor snaps out of his daze as the door bangs open, and Yuuri sees him look alarmed, but at what? He knows the answer soon, and he feels something cold envelope him. He's dragged back out of the room, then spun around to face his captor. Christophe?

"You ought to run," Christophe advises him. "You don't belong here."

Yuuri bolts, not knowing what else to do. He feels ghostly hands shove at him, pushing him onward, helping him escape, opening doors and removing obstacles in his path. Why are they helping him? He hasn't any time to wonder, because he freezes in front of the enormous main doors as they bang open, and the torrent that awaits him is enough to make him want to turn back.

But he suddenly remembers Vicchan, safe under cover but alone. He thinks of his family. Of his mother.

He thinks of Viktor.

"Stop!"

His host's voice rings out behind him, and Yuuri makes up his mind. He bolts out the doors, nearly slipping on the slick pathway, and once again he finds Vicchan waiting for him loyally. He struggles onto his back, bending his head over him as he kicks him into a gallop. They fly through the manor's gates, and Yuuri thinks he hears shouting, but it's lost among pounding rain and beating hooves.

The sky is darkened with thick black clouds, but it's still day. The path is nearly obscured by sheets of rain, but enough sunlight peeks through the clouds for Yuuri to spot the familiar path. Vicchan seems to sense that, and surges towards it. Yuuri can feel his panic. Their last adventure through a storm hadn't ended well. But as they make their way, Yuuri's confidence in their safe arrival home builds up high.

It comes crashing down hard, or perhaps it's just the massive tree that's done so, and Yuuri is nearly blinded by the lightning that fells it with a sickening snap. Vicchan rears, terrified of the flames that burst from charred bark. The rain extinguishes the fire immediately, but Yuuri chokes through the smoke as he desperately tries to maintain his balance on his horse's back.

Vicchan rears to vault over the remains of the tree, and Yuuri slips off, falling hard onto his back. He groans, trying to rise from the ground, and sees Vicchan on the other side of the fallen trunk, looking wild and frightened. Yuuri finally gets to his feet, spitting out mud and bracing himself to try and find a way around the massive tree. He bolts to one side, and lightning flashes again, blinding him once more, and when his foot catches on something, he falls again, feeling the most excruciating pain he's ever felt in his life. He curls in on himself, trying not to sob. His legs are bloodied where he'd tripped and fallen, and the foot he had caught on gnarled roots feels either fractured or broken.

He struggles to rise, but he can't, and he lies panting in the mud, hissing in pain and trying not to scream every time he moves. He hears Vicchan neigh in distress, and he does his best to shout to him over the sound of thunder.

"Go! Go home, boy!"

Vicchan seems to understand, and the last thing Yuuri hears is hoofbeats fading away into the distance. He prays that Vicchan will make it home safely. Yuuri closes his eyes, trembling in the mud and rain. Mari would take good care of his horse. She would take good care of mother and father, too. Yuuri feels guilty knowing that his death will place that burden onto her shoulders. But their mother had regained her health fairly quickly, and their father's work had gotten steadier and more profitable.

Yes, Yuuri thinks, feeling himself slip into unconsciousness, they'll be fine without him.

He shivers. The rain is so cold.

*

Viktor is too horrified to be in a rage. He'd been shocked to his very core at the sight of Yuuri being snatched away from him. Snatched by Christophe, by the treacherous guests of his manor. _Why?_

He hadn't been aware of anything he might have done to frighten the boy. Except, of course, musing aloud on how best to kill him. That may have been a mistake.

He stands by the doors now, watching again as Yuuri escapes. Why? Viktor had done his very best to charm him. Or had he? Perhaps he had still been too intimidating. He certainly hadn't felt that way. His nerves had frayed the minute he materialized at last before the boy. Yes, he had finally decided to show himself, and to have Yuuri so near to him had been unsettling. But in a way that was also thrilling. He had felt his warmth many times. He grits his teeth, feeling his anger returning as Christophe steps towards him.

"You should have known that this would happen, my friend. The mortal doesn't belo-"

"His name," Viktor says, his voice trembling, "is Yuuri."

Christophe raises his eyebrows but says nothing. Viktor continues to stare towards the woods. The rain hasn't stopped, and he wonders if Yuuri might be in danger. Well, there's nothing he can do about that. His body is out of reach, and so is his soul.

The lightning that flashes is close, very close, striking deep into the woods. Viktor feels an odd disquiet at the sight of it. When thick smoke starts to curl above the trees, Viktor's eyes widen in alarm. _Yuuri._

Yuuri is in trouble. Viktor doesn't know how he knows this, or why he cares. The only thing he knows is that he must reach him. Christophe must have guessed his thoughts, because he bars his path. Viktor hadn't even realized that he had lunged forward.

"You can't," Christophe tells him. "You won't last out there. You know this."

Viktor fights against the arms that try to restrain him. He shoves Christophe hard, sending him stumbling back, then bolts out the doors. He can fly to the gates in an instant, but once he passes, his feet hit the ground. He fades from view as he runs towards the smoke, trying to save his energy. He can already feel himself start to shake. At last, he reaches a large tree that blocks his path, burnt and still smoking despite the rain. He panics. Where is Yuuri?

He tries to calm himself and think rationally. If Yuuri's path had stopped here, then he mustn't be very far. Think. He casts around the area, then stops, noticing tracks in the mud. The tracks of something frantic and scrambling away, falling and struggling and-

_Yuuri._

He's laying spread-eagled on his stomach in the mud, caught among the roots of the tree that had fallen. He isn't moving. Viktor rushes to his side, hesitating. What can he do to help him? He crouches close to him, and can feel by his warmth that he's alive. But that's the only thing he can feel. He touches him gingerly, but nothing happens. Viktor closes his eyes. He needs to concentrate. He needs to be strong. He needs to do this. Even if he fizzles out of existence, he _will_ save Yuuri.

He exhales slowly, and he can nearly feel the rain coming down against his skin as his body grows more solid. He struggles to focus as he touches Yuuri again. His hand no longer pushes through him. His relief causes him to drop his guard momentarily, and he sees his hand flicker. No, _concentrate._

He grabs Yuuri to pull him up to his feet, but the boy wakens suddenly, crying out. His legs are bloody, and a foot is raised, as though he's fighting not to stand on it. He's injured, Viktor realizes. Viktor pulls him into his arms, praying that he has enough strength to carry him. He does, at least for now, and he hoists him over his shoulder as he makes his way back to his manor. He can tell that Yuuri is delirious, whimpering and struggling weakly, but he holds on tighter. He needs to concentrate. One false move would send Yuuri crashing through him and into the ground.

Viktor is trembling hard by the time they reach the gates. His vision starts spinning as he passes through them, and suddenly arms are reaching out to steady him. He feels Yuuri being taken from him, and he tries to shout, but he's too drained to protest. Someone holds him up, leading him away towards the manor. He hears a familiar gruff voice, and he laughs weakly.

"You're a goddamned fool, Viktor Nikiforov," Yakov growls.

*

Yuuri wakes, and immediately wishes that he hadn't. His legs feel raw and slashed, and he's certain that his ankle is swollen. He bites his lip hard to stop himself from screaming as he raises his head from the pillow beneath it weakly.

He's in a spacious and magnificent room. The bed he's lying in is soft and feels good against his freezing skin. The canopy above is richly embroidered, and sheer curtains hang from it, surrounding the bed. Yuuri strains his neck to look around, and sees beautifully carved and gilded furniture, chests and desks and chairs and wardrobes, and he can't help but notice that they look a bit outdated, as though they've survived through decades or even a century. The layers of dust certainly make it seem that way.

But the bed he's in is blessedly clean, and crisp linen sheets cover him, smelling fresh and new. He suddenly notices that he's clean as well. Someone has stripped him of his clothes, and there isn't any mud on his body or in his hair. The pillow cushions his head as he lets it fall back, and he does his best to concentrate on not screaming or sobbing. Yuuri had remembered injuring his arm once while playing outdoors with his sister, but the pain was nothing compared to what he's feeling now.

His sister.

His family.

Where were they? Back home, of course. Home. Vicchan? He had told Vicchan to go home. He's alone.

Except he isn't, because he realizes now that someone has materialized next to him.

"Hello!"

Yuuri screams, jerking away, and he regrets this instantly, hissing sharply at the throbbing pain in his foot.

"Hey, now," the ghost says, sounding offended but smiling playfully, "is that any way to thank me?"

"Thank you?" Yuuri wheezes, squinting at him through shaking double-vision. What is he thanking him for?

The ghost looks very pleased at this, his smile growing wider. 

"You're welcome!"

That voice.

_You're welcome._

_"You,"_ Yuuri breathes, "it's you. You're the one... the one that..."

"Saved your life? Absolutely, my friend! And I did so again, so you should thank me twice!" He winks at him, and Yuuri starts to wonder if this is just a fever dream. He suddenly feels guilty, and he sits up, wincing.

"Yes, of course, thank you! I-I'm sorry, I haven't- I mean, I should have introduced myself, I'm sorry-"

"I already know who you are," the ghost says, looking amused. "My, how well-mannered you are! It's a pleasure to properly meet you, Yuuri."

Yuuri stares at him, stunned. Right. Every guest in this manor seems to know who he is. All nine hundred and ninety-nine of them.

"I'm Phichit," the other boy continues, "and the Master has instructed me to care for you."

Yuuri doesn't really know what that means. How would they care for him? He looks at the lump in the linen at the end of his leg. Can they fix that?

"The Master will call for help when he recovers," Phichit says, answering his unspoken question. "The physician will come to bind-"

"What?" Yuuri asks sharply. "What do you mean by that? A physician? A," he hesitates before speaking the word, "mortal?"

Phichit nods, and Yuuri gapes at him. Viktor would allow another human to pass through his gates. But how? And what, Yuuri realizes, would _he_ do about it? Another mortal could possibly mean help. He could beg them to take him away from this place. But some small part of him wants to push that idea away. The ghost is speaking again, and Yuuri snaps out of his thoughts.

"The Master has also instructed me to help you rest." He looks a little guilty as he grabs up a bottle on the nightstand beside the bed. Yuuri squints at it, trying to read the small label. 'Ether.' What is that? Phichit once again answers him before he speaks.

"This will help you relax and numb the pain. You must drink it. Or else you'll suffer." He says the last bit with a smile. But the guilty look returns as he continues. "It will make you feel odd. The effects may even frighten you."

Yuuri chokes on his laughter. What could that tiny bottle do to frighten him more than this god-forsaken manor had?

Phichit brings the bottle to his lips, and Yuuri chokes again.

"This tastes terrible," he sputters, and the ghost beams at him.

"Indeed, it does! Now, open wide, my friend."

Yuuri wonders if the burning pain in his foot is worth this torture.

Phichit stays by his side as he lays back down, and Yuuri feels a little awkward about this. The ghost seems to be watching him intently for any signs that the medication has gone wrong. After a while, Yuuri finds that he doesn't care. He feels light, like he's floating, and for a moment he thinks that he may be a ghost. Maybe he can fly around the mansion. Maybe he can fly with Viktor. He feels his face grow hot. Where is his host? Phichit had said that he's recovering. But from what? Yuuri closes his eyes. His head feels so odd. It's almost funny. He wants to laugh, but he's drained, exhausted, and he feels himself drifting away.

*

Viktor feels much stronger now. It's been a day since he had nearly collapsed at the manor gates, clutching Yuuri in his arms, and he'd regained his energy quickly. The amount he had burned trying to be solid for so long had been dangerous. Being off the mansion's property had been _extremely_ dangerous. He's very lucky he's survived. No one ever left the grounds. Not without losing a part of themselves.

But Viktor feels no difference. He had been fading when he had returned, yes, nearly wavering into an unknown darkness, but he doesn't feel as though any part of him is missing or weakened. In fact, he feels as though he may have gained something instead. Perhaps there is hope for him yet.

He lands lightly on his feet in his study, feeling refreshed. A ghost doesn't exactly sleep. Most simply fade into complete transparency, conserving and building energy. Some choose to treat it as sleep, even going so far as to materialize nightgowns for themselves. Viktor doesn't find that necessary. He tends to float in his study, not bothering to waste an ounce of his energy remaining solid enough to rest on a surface. He hasn't lain in his own bed for decades. Centuries, maybe. Viktor tends to easily lose track of time.

He thinks of his bed now, and the boy currently in it. How is Yuuri faring? Is he well? He had instructed Phichit to take care of him and administer the proper medications. Viktor can tell that Phichit has grown fond of Yuuri. He had broken his fall that very first day, and when Viktor had stumbled through the gates the day before, Phichit had been there to take Yuuri into his arms before he slipped out of Viktor's.

And now Yuuri lies in Viktor's bed. A very old bed. He had ordered it cleaned and dusted, all the bedding removed and replaced. He hadn't been sure what sort of things mortals liked, so he had given him plentiful cushions, fresh sheets, and blankets that were thick and warm. Yuuri had been so cold when he'd been brought in. Viktor cannot quite feel Yuuri's touch, but he can feel his warmth, and the lack of it had worried him greatly. The boy had been unconscious throughout most of the last day or so, waking occasionally only to faint when the pain was too much to bear. Phichit had reported this to him as he rested, and Viktor has been itching to rush to Yuuri's side.

The way Phichit smiles at him when he enters the room gives him pause. He's up to something.

"Well?" Viktor asks, striding over to the bed impatiently. "How is he?"

"Oh, he's _very_ fine, Master. Aren't you, Yuuri?"

Viktor comes closer, and when he sees Yuuri, he gapes at him.

Yuuri's wearing a smile that nearly outdoes Phichit's. He seems rather dazed, but very content. He looks at Viktor as though he's very happy to see him, and even gives him a little wave.

"Hello, Master Viktor!"

Viktor forgives him for addressing him incorrectly, because Yuuri is absolutely _precious._

"Er. Hello, Yuuri. How are you feeling?"

"Oh, I'm feeling very well, thank you for asking!" he says cheerfully, his smile widening impossibly. His eyes are glazed, and his speech is a bit slow, dreamy and groggy, as though he were-

Intoxicated.

Viktor rounds on Phichit immediately.

"What have you done to him?"

Phichit raises his hands defensively, but he's still grinning.

"Nothing! Just a bit of brandy, to numb the pain. And ether. I think I may have given him a bit too much. He's safe," he adds quickly as Viktor glares at him. "He's safe, and he isn't in pain. Not for now, at least."

Viktor looks back at Yuuri, and his face softens. Yes, for now. His eyes stray to the lump in the sheets, and he isn't looking forward to seeing how Yuuri's foot might look. He needs to act quickly. He needs to summon the physician. Yuuri reaches out for him before he goes.

"Viktor. I want to fly with you."

Viktor blinks at him.

"Fly?"

"Yes," Yuuri says with a lazy grin, "I want to fly. With you. I want to be close to you."

Viktor's eyes widen, and he nearly feels himself blush. Phichit snickers as discreetly as he can.

"Alright," Viktor says slowly, "perhaps one day. Now, however, you need your rest."

Yuuri gives him a dopey smile and another small wave as he leaves. Viktor feels incredibly flustered, though he hasn't any idea why. He pushes that feeling away, because he's got more pressing matters to concern himself with.

As he eventually enters another chamber, he hesitates. Speaking with her is often... unpleasant. To say the least. But he steels himself, because this is for Yuuri. The room is dark and dank, lit dimly by the large glass ball floating at its center. No, he isn't ready for this séance. He isn't ready for Madame Lilia. He peers into the crystal ball as he approaches, seating himself in a chair before the large table. Perched upon the back of the empty chair across from him is Emil's raven. Its eyes glow red in the dim chamber.

Viktor leans forward to look deep within the crystal's swirling mist. The medium often prefers that he call to her, rather than appearing on her own. Viktor sighs wearily.

"Madame Lilia," he says, trying not to sound grudging, "I humbly ask for your wise and powerful services." He hopes that calling her wise wouldn't come across as calling her old. She wouldn't appreciate that.

A head starts to materialize within the ball. Her severe face is even more stern as her bright green eyes lock onto his. Viktor tries not to look away.

"Yes?" she snaps at him. "What is it now, Nikiforov?"

Viktor doesn't dare correct her. In this manor, he's Master to everyone except Lilia. The madame exists in a different realm, an enigma that Viktor has never bothered to unravel. The only thing he knows is that she had changed his life. Well, his afterlife.

"Madame," Viktor says slowly, "I beg for your assistance. I am in need of a mortal."

This isn't necessarily an unusual request, as mortals had been summoned in the past for various deeds the ghosts couldn't quite perform themselves. One that Viktor had requested often is spreading rumors. Having mortals spread the word about the manor. Convincing others to visit. This had helped fill Viktor's quota quite nicely. It was a loophole of sorts that had angered the Madame greatly. He wasn't using her services to possess mortals and bring them into the manor. He was simply influencing them, through his own magnetism and through hearsay among the living. Viktor prides himself in out-thinking her.

Despite this, Madame Lilia gives him a sharp and suspicious look.

"And what," she asks, "do you require from his mortal?"

"I require a physician. A doctor. A surgeon. Anyone."

"Oh?" Lilia's eyebrows raise slightly. "Are you feeling ill, Nikiforov?"

Viktor tries not to grind his teeth impatiently. He doesn't have time for games.

"No, Madame, I- er. A mortal within the castle has been injured."

Her eyes seem to bore into his soul as she stares, her face expressionless. He prays that she won't disappear without warning.

"You are aware that you cannot take the soul of one possessed, as it cannot-"

"Be used for the requirement, yes, I am aware. Please, Madame," he adds, in case cutting her off had upset her, "I beg this of you."

"Very well," she says after giving him another long and level look, "I shall grant you this request. But I will remind you again, Nikiforov, that you cannot take a pure and unwilling soul. Not if you would ever like to see a second life. Be gone."

The raven caws as Viktor leaves the room. He feels it fly past him, but sees no trace of it.

It's on its way.

*

Yuuri wakes, groaning at the pain again. His medication had worn away in his sleep. Phichit appears at his side, and Yuuri notices his excitement immediately.

"Has something happened?" he asks cautiously.

"Yes! A doctor has arrived!" Phichit sounds very happy about this, and Yuuri realizes that he's happy for _him._ He suddenly feels very grateful for his friendship.

But not for long, because the ghost suddenly procures another bottle of what is most likely disgusting medicine.

"What is that?" he asks dully. Phichit beams at him.

"Morphine! I've been instructed by the doctor to administer it, so that it takes effect by the time the Master leads him here."

This medicine is just as disgusting as the last, and he gags as Phichit disappears. The physician enters shortly, Viktor at his side. Phichit's words register far too late. He stares at the Master in shock.

Viktor had led the doctor here. He had been seen by a mortal. How? Yuuri sees him more clearly as he steps into the light. He's nearly human. He's so solid, and his skin is so unlike his usual pallor. He looks warm, his face flushed and healthy, and Yuuri can even see him breathing. Yuuri blushes profusely as Viktor smiles at him. His smile is as beautiful and alive as the rest of him.

He's in the middle of speaking to the doctor, but Yuuri is too busy watching his eyes. They're dancing. Or maybe it's just Yuuri's vision swimming. They turn on him suddenly, and Yuuri realizes that he's being questioned.

"I'm sorry?" he asks absently, and suddenly feels odd. He feels fuzzy and unreal.

"Are you ready, Yuuri?" Viktor repeats, looking amused.

Yuuri nods, finding himself unable to speak. The doctor approaches now, introducing himself and performing a customary check-up of his body. As the sheets are drawn back, Yuuri realizes that he's naked. Very naked. He's naked, and Viktor is watching, his eyes sweeping over his bare chest and stomach. Yuuri shivers, and the odd feeling grows. He feels dazed and numb, nearly like he had when he'd been given his usual medicine. Except this one feels ten times as potent.

Thankfully, the doctor covers him again, drawing back the sheets over his feet instead. Viktor inhales sharply just as Yuuri does. Yuuri's legs are scraped and scratched, but the bleeding has stopped. His foot is positioned a bit oddly, and is very swollen at the ankle, turning a sort of color that makes Yuuri feel nauseous. But he views it as though it belongs to someone else, because he feels like he's floating, numb and confused. It's sort of funny.

He watches the doctor place his bag onto the bed, withdrawing fresh strips of linen and a few odd tubs. Yuuri eyes them warily. He supposes that the doctor is going to wrap his ankle with these strips. He hopes it won't hurt, but he's afraid he already knows the answer. The doctor looks up at him with a friendly smile, and despite Yuuri's growing stupor, he's even warier now, because there's something odd in his expression. Yuuri thinks he sees his eyes flash red, but it must be a trick of the light.

Yuuri suddenly remembers that this man is the only other mortal in this manor. He struggles to focus, struggles to speak through the dry and thick feeling in his mouth. He can ask the doctor for help, just as he had planned. He can ask him to take him away. He can tell him that he's surrounded by ghosts, by things aren't real, aren't human.

But movement out of the corner of his eye distracts him from these thoughts, and Viktor approaches now, coming close to inspect his leg as the doctor prepares. When Viktor looks at him, his smile is soft, fond, almost secret. Just between the two of them.

"It's going to be alright, Yuuri," Viktor says quietly. "I'll remain at your side."

Yuuri feels hot and cold all at once, and his eyes don't leave Viktor's until someone enters the room.

A young and gruff looking man enters, lugging a large bucket of steaming water. Yuuri watches him place it by the bed, and remembers him as the groundskeeper from the ballroom. He seems very serious, and a little intimidating. A lot intimidating, actually. Viktor beams at him.

"Ah, Otabek! Thank you kindly."

"My pleasure, Master," Otabek says, sounding almost monotonous. He's nearly as solid-looking as Viktor, although Yuuri sees him hurry from the room before the doctor can notice him fading. As he leaves, Viktor turns his beam on Yuuri.

"Straight from the well, boiled and clean! We've no use for indoor plumbing, you see." He tips him a wink, and Yuuri suddenly starts giggling, because it's so funny, and everything is funny. Viktor's face is funny as he stares, amazed, and the playful grin tugging at the corner of his lips is very funny to Yuuri. He snorts into his palm, trying to stifle his laughter, but he can't, because everything is just so _funny._

"We ought to sedate you more often," Viktor says dryly, still trying not to laugh. "Keeping you here would be far easier." 

The doctor has been wiping away any dried blood from the slashes on his legs, rubbing ointments onto them to keep them safe from infection. He's ready to begin casting now, having mixed plaster from his tubs with the water Otabek had delivered. But before he begins, he reaches out to test the swelling, and Yuuri's laughter is cut off in a hiss of pain. The doctor is poking at his ankle now, his touch growing more firm as he presses around for broken bone. Yuuri begins to sweat, trying not to fidget or flinch. It hurts, but the thought of the pain he might have felt without medication is enough to quiet him. The doctor seems to have found his mark, because he presses hard, listening for the sound of grinding bone. Yuuri bites his lip, breathing hard, his eyes watering, fingers clenching the bed sheets.

"You're lucky, boy. No sign of anything broken. You'll heal up just fine."

Yuuri gulps and nods. As the doctor begins soaking strips of linen in plaster and wrapping them about his ankle, Yuuri closes his eyes and lets his head fall back on the pillows, panting and trying his best not to cry. He suddenly feels something very cold pressed against his forehead, and his eyes flutter open, widening as he sees Viktor's hand pressed against his skin. Rather, _through_ his skin. It's the strangest sensation Yuuri has ever felt, but he finds it soothing against his sweating brow.

Viktor is looking down at him, still seeming solid and real, but his hand has faded into nearly nothing. Yuuri casts a panicked glance in the doctor's direction, but he's busy coating Yuuri's hardening cast in a clear glaze. He doesn't seem to notice at all. Yuuri's eyes return to Viktor's. They shine so brightly in the dim room, and Yuuri can't look away from his face. His face. He doesn't find it funny anymore. He wants to touch it.

And so he does. He tries to, anyway. He reaches out, and his fingers brush Viktor's cheek. Viktor's eyes widen, and he freezes, drawing his hand back from him. Yuuri longs for his touch already. But his cheek is almost warm. Almost solid. Yuuri can't quite feel it. It doesn't feel like skin, but it doesn't feel like not-skin either. It makes no sense. Perhaps he needs more sedatives.

"Viktor," he says softly, and he likes the way it sounds in his mouth. Viktor seems to as well, because he shivers. Can ghosts shiver? Yuuri doesn't know. But he wants him to do it again. They stay like this for a short while, and Viktor starts to reach out his hand before the doctor speaks.

"Well, everything is taken care of. Stay still and allow it to dry. Get plenty of rest, my boy. You're going to be just fine."

Yuuri smiles weakly at him, and the doctor smiles back. His face is still funny, but not in a good way. Viktor escorts him out, casting Yuuri one last look as he goes, and Yuuri feels very alone now.

Phichit bursts in suddenly, giving Yuuri quite a fright, and he smiles guiltily at him as he hisses in pain.

"Stay still, Yuuri! Doctor's orders, didn't you hear?"

Yuuri glares at him, but softens as he approaches. Phichit lays his hand on Yuuri's brow the way Viktor had, and though it isn't the same, Yuuri closes his eyes and sighs in relief.

His stomach growls loudly.

Phichit jumps in surprise, and the two exchange glances.

There's an awkward pause.

"We, er," Phichit says nervously, "I'm afraid we don't... um. Well, never mind that. I'll tell the Master right away!"

He marches out of the room looking very determined. Yuuri's stomach growls again, and although beggars can't be choosers, he hopes that Phichit won't bring him something... suited to this manor's standards.

*

Viktor retreats from the séance room in a hurry, ducking as the raven shoots past, fading into nothing. Viktor can feel his energy running low, and wonders how long his rest must be this time. He had appeared as human as he ever had, wanting to be absolutely perfectly normal when the doctor arrived. The man may have been vacant and dazed, with nothing behind his eyes but a glinting red, but he was still human, still mortal, and any shock too great could cause him to regain himself. Viktor had done his best to prevent that. He had done it for Yuuri's sake.

He can still feel Yuuri's fingers against his face. Or can he? The memory of a touch, not quite there, not quite skin. No, not quite anything. Nothing except warm. Very warm. He wishes he could touch him. He feels a need to protect him, but tells himself that it's only to keep him alive. Viktor needs him alive. For now.

And to stay alive, mortals need food.

Madame Lilia had been furious at his sudden request, demanding to know why he hadn't considered the first one good enough. He had admitted that he hadn't exactly thought anything through, and him admitting that he was a fool and apologizing endlessly had mollified her. Somewhat. No amount of groveling could ever soften that face.

And so she had sent the raven to possess another mortal. This one would bring food. In fact, he would bring much food. He would bring iced boxes, salted meats preserved in barrels, items for the very disused kitchens of the manor, and more. The raven had been instructed to find a very wealthy man, one with a heavy purse and a large carriage. Viktor can't quite remember how much and how often mortals must eat. Perhaps he should have asked for ten carriages?

Yes, Viktor has asked for many things to make Yuuri's stay more comfortable. Items for bathing, of course, and clothing for him. Yuuri generally wears very basic garb, but Viktor suddenly wants to see him looking splendid. He may request a tailor. After the Madame had calmed herself.

He realizes that he's gotten too caught up in his excitement, and he pauses, confused and slightly terrified. What is he doing? Keeping the mortal alive, yes, but why is he planning on _pampering_ this boy? 

Still, he ought to have _something_ nice, at least. Nice trousers, a few coats. Fine evening wear. Viktor suddenly pictures Yuuri looking very sharp in a fine and well-fitted frock coat. He banishes that thought immediately. 

He would make the boy's stay here as pleasant as possible while he rests. Viktor brightens at the hope that he might be convinced to stay and become the thousandth haunt, and pretends that this is the only reason why he's so eager to keep Yuuri here with him.

*

By the third day, Yuuri has decided that he's had it.

This is boring, he thinks as he stares up at the canopy. He's counted every thread woven into the design by now. He's bored, and he's uncomfortable.

Having to use a bedpan is horrifyingly embarrassing, but perhaps not as embarrassing as having his body wiped down by various ghosts. The cloth rags are damp and cool and soft, but he's very naked as they press against him, wiping sweat off his brow and ensuring that his wounded legs are healing nicely. But he can't keep eye contact with any of them. It's far too awkward.

The ghosts who come to visit him are very kind. A little too kind, Yuuri thinks suspiciously. Viktor's words echo back to him. If they want to charm him into staying, he'll let them think that. But he knows that he'll leave the very moment he's able to stand. He tries not to think of blue eyes, but he can imagine the hurt in them as they watch him go.

No, he needs to leave this place. He needs to see his family.

_His family._

He curses himself for being such a selfish fool. He's been thinking of his injury, of his planned escape, and of icy fingers, but he hadn't thought that his family might miss him. He remembers telling Vicchan to go home, and he's certain that his family had taken the lone horse as a sign that Yuuri would never return.

But he's alive. It's hard for him to believe, especially with the time he's spent among the dead, but he's alive. He needs to let his family know. But what would he even say? 'I've been abducted by a very handsome ghost, but I'll be home before sundown' doesn't seem very believable. He groans. What should he do?

"Are you alright, Yuuri?"

Yuuri jumps slightly, as he always does when any of the ghosts materialize, or float through the walls and ceiling. He relaxes when he sees that his visitor is Emil. He's very pleasant to be around.

"Yes, I'm just, er... a little worried."

Emil looks concerned. "Worried? Well, is there any way to cheer you up?"

"I'm afraid not. I... I miss my family," he says, his voice cracking slightly. "They must think I'm dead by now. I don't know how to tell them that I'm safe." 

"Oh," Emil says, "you should have mentioned it earlier. Anastasi can deliver a message for you."

Yuuri stares. Who? Emil can clearly see his utter confusion, so he whistles sharply, and a magnificent raven swoops into the room, seemingly from nowhere. Yuuri jumps again, swearing loudly. Will his ankle ever heal if the entire goddamned manor keeps startling him?

"This is Anastasi. She can deliver messages to and from the manor, since we ghosts are unable to leave the grounds."

Yuuri takes note of this new fact, tucking it away for later. Emil seems eager to help, rushing to bring him parchment and an ink pen, and Yuuri accepts it gratefully. He pauses. What should he write? He blushes, suddenly remembering Mari's last words to him.

_'My dearest mother, father, and sister,_

_I'm sorry to have worried you. I'm alive and well in the city. I'm ashamed to say that I have fallen for a beautiful young lover with blue eyes and a sweet smile. I pray that you will forgive my selfishness. I plan to work in the city, so that I may return with enough wealth to ensure you comfort for the rest of your lives. Send Vicchan my love._

_Your loving son and brother, Yuuri.'_

He reads this over a few times, and grows flustered every time he reads about his 'young lover.' Why had he mentioned blue eyes?

He lets it dry, and Emil gives him a very compassionate look.

"I'm sure your family will appreciate your message. And Anastasi will find her way, there's no doubt about that. She's good for more than just possession," he adds with a wink. Yuuri doesn't know what that means, and he doesn't want to.

He stares up at the canopy as Emil and Anastasi leave with his letter. He has the sudden need to see his host. Where is Viktor?

*

"You ought to visit him."

Viktor paces back and forth in his study, trying not to pull at his hair. Christophe's gaze follows.

"You really should visit him," he repeats. "I'm sure he's waiting. He's been in bed for nearly a week."

"Ridiculous," Viktor mutters, pacing faster, agitated.

"You're flickering," Christophe points out. "Are you really so nervous?"

Viktor pauses and closes his eyes. He concentrates on his body, but he can feel his hands fading in and out. Is he nervous, or is he running out of time? He shakes his head, leaning against the door frame wearily.

"I'm... frightened." He says this slowly, as though his tongue has never had to form these words in this order. Christophe looks both surprised and amused.

"Frightened? Well, aren't you two the perfect pair?"

Viktor wants to throw something at him, but doesn't bother. It'd go right through him anyway. He closes his eyes again and sighs. Despite his irritating teasing, Christophe is right. What sort of host is he, abandoning a guest so impolitely? How inhospitable of him.

When Christophe tries to press flowers from the garden into his hands, Viktor threatens to haunt his second, third, and fourth afterlives. Viktor had started instructing Emil to place living plants around the manor, and Christophe knows precisely why. The smug bastard.

He floats all the way to the master bedroom, wanting to save his energy. He has a feeling that he'll need it.

No one answers his knock, so he cautiously steps through the door. Sheer curtains stir in the slight breeze from an open window, and the moon casts its light across the bed. How romantic, Viktor thinks wryly as he approaches, but he feels a shock run through him when he sees him.

Yuuri is lying on his back, his arms crossed over his chest, his head lolling to the side against the pillow. He looks slightly uncomfortable, as though he'd had no choice but to sleep in this position. He also looks sort of dead, and that sends a thrill down Viktor's body, both excited and scared. But no, he isn't dead. His chest rises and falls softly, steadily, and Viktor can nearly hear his heart beating.

He can see the lump in the bed sheets where the cast juts out against it. He doesn't dare pull the sheets back to inspect it. Waking the boy in such a way would be beyond rude. In fact, waking the boy in any way would be rude, so he turns to make his escape. He's technically visited Yuuri, hasn't he?

But soft brown eyes pin him in place as he tries to leave. Yuuri's eyes are open, though very bleary, and he stirs, wincing slightly as he shifts his legs. Viktor has no idea what to say. He watches Yuuri grow more alert, more awake, and those sleepy eyes widen as he realizes exactly who is standing beside him.

"Viktor?" he asks, his voice just as sleepy, and Viktor would like to hear his name spoken this way for the rest of his afterlife.

"Yes," he answers softly, "it's me, Yuuri."

Yuuri slowly sits up to lean his back against the cushions, looking exhausted. Viktor feels guilty. He should have let the boy sleep through the night and visited during the day instead. He often forgets the cycle of time. He still doesn't know what to say. Yuuri looks as though he doesn't either, but attempts to break the silence anyway.

"Is something wrong? Or are you just here to visit?" he asks, and Viktor can see his face flushing, even in the near-darkness.

"I wanted to see you," Viktor says, trying not to make it sound like an admittance, "and I wanted to know if you're well." 

"Oh." There's something about the way Yuuri pauses that makes Viktor brace himself for what is likely a difficult question.

"Phichit told me that you saved me from the woods."

Viktor says nothing, and Yuuri takes that as confirmation.

"Why?" he asks quietly, his voice wavering slightly. "Why would you save me?"

'I need your soul to save me from this immortal hell,' is what Viktor had meant to say.

"I don't want you to die," he says instead.

Yuuri stares at him, wide-eyed and incredulous. Viktor has no doubt that his own face looks the same. They stare at one another for some time.

"You don't want me to die," Yuuri says, his voice even quieter than before. "Why?"

Viktor doesn't have an answer, because he's asking himself the same question. He wants Yuuri to live? Well, he _does_ need him alive for now. He cannot die at the hands of nature. Or at the hands of another. But Viktor hadn't said that he wants Yuuri to live. He had told him that he doesn't want him to die. Seemingly the same answer, but actually worlds apart.

"I don't know," Viktor finally says. "Truly, I don't know."

Yuuri smiles, but it's small and contains no joy.

"Ah. I see. Still trying to charm me into staying?"

"I want you to stay because I care for you," Viktor says suddenly.

Yuuri looks so shocked that he seems petrified, unmoving and unblinking. Viktor is horrified at himself. Why had he said that? He can see the fear growing in Yuuri's eyes, and the boy begins to shiver, still unable to look away from him. Viktor reaches forward without thinking, wanting to comfort him somehow, but Yuuri flinches back, shivering harder. Viktor feels something like heartache, but that can't be right, because he doesn't have one. And he's a fool for being so close to Yuuri. His touch is far too cold for him. Viktor is reminded that he isn't real. He's barely even human. Dead.

As he leaves, he realizes that he's never been so bitter about this fact in his entire existence.

*

_"I care for you."_

Yuuri hears these words endlessly. A constant loop. An eternal reminder.

Viktor cares for him. But what does that mean? Viktor doesn't want him to die. He doesn't want him to die, because he cares for him. Yuuri keeps arranging difference sentences to form the same thought.

Viktor cares for him and doesn't want him to die.

It's been at least three days since then. Possibly more. Yuuri has lost track of time. Every day a ghost would visit, bringing him food, a change of clothing, or soft rags to clean him. Sometimes more sedatives were administered, and Yuuri would sleep through the entire day.

The only indicator that any time has passed at all is a letter from Emil's raven that arrives now in a sudden flurry of feathers. Yuuri grasps for it desperately. His family's response, finally. He recognizes Mari's handwriting.

_'My darling Yuuri,_

_You should thank your older sister for her wisdom. A bouquet is the way to a lover's heart, didn't I say so? I pray that we might meet your young beauty someday. I would love to see the blue eyes that have so captivated you. Mother and father send their love. They wept with relief when your letter arrived. We'll cherish it for as long as we live. Keep safe in the city, my dearest brother._

_With all my heart, Mari._

_P.S. Vicchan misses you terribly.'_

Yuuri moves the letter quickly, not wanting to stain it with his tears. He reads it over and over, memorizing every slash, curve, and dot of the ink pen. He wants to cherish this letter as much as they will cherish his. He wonders if this will be the last time he ever gets to write to them.

There's a knock at the door, and Yuuri is more surprised at this than he's ever been at any other ghost's arrival. Whoever this is has decided not to barge through the ceiling like some barbarian.

"Er. Come in?"

The door nudges open, and a young woman appears. She's chipper and pretty, and she approaches him with such a friendly air that Yuuri likes her immediately.

"Hello! My name is Yuuko, and I'm to take care of you today."

Yuuri notices that she's carrying something odd. Two things rather odd. As she draws nearer, Yuuri sees that they're wooden crutches, and he perks up immediately. Crutches? Is he finally allowed out of bed? His ankle is still swollen and tender, but he doesn't scream every time he shifts anymore. Definitely improvement. Yuuko senses his excitement, helping him rise. 

He takes them under each arm firmly, holding his injured foot off the ground and trying to balance himself. It's far harder than it looks. He nearly falls several times, but Yuuko's hands are cold and soft as they keep him steady.

"Be very careful, sir," she advises him, "very few of us have the strength to catch you, should you fall!"

Yuuri nods, too excited to care much about his safety. He can walk. He can leave this room. He can't go home, but he can _go,_ and that's all that matters. He beams at Yuuko, waiting for her to guide him. Surely she's been sent to help him around the castle? He'd like to explore it, he realizes. He isn't afraid anymore. So he waits for her to say something.

But Yuuko only smiles sweetly, directing him towards a large door at the far end of the chamber. Yuuri stares. What's in that room? He makes his way towards it, nearly slipping a few times. Yuuko pushes it open for him, and Yuuri gasps, because the large and beautifully gilded porcelain tub in the center of it immediately catches his eye. Enameled white with accents of gold and red engraved, and it's already filled with steaming water. Yuuko leaves as he stands there, uncertain. He sees assorted bath items placed on racks and shelves, basins and pitchers, all as ornate and lovely. What is such a beautiful room doing in such a dreadful manor?

Yuuko comes bustling back in with new clothes for him, placing them upon one of the shelves. She turns to him expectantly. Yuuri stares at her awkwardly.

"The bath is for you, sir. As per the Master's orders. I am to assist-"

"That's quite alright," Yuuri says hurriedly, "I'll, er, I can do it myself. Bathe, I mean."

Yuuko looks uncertain, as though reluctant to leave him alone and let him get himself injured. Yuuri most likely would, but he'd prefer to do so without anyone watching him naked. Yuuri hopes he isn't being rude. But Yuuko smiles at him politely as she leaves.

"Please take care, Yuuri! I'll be near if you need assistance."

Yuuri realizes that he's made a mistake the second Yuuko closes the door. How is he supposed to get into the tub? And undress? If he puts aside his crutches and leans against a wall, he can remove the long and thin nightshirt he's been given. He hasn't been wearing trousers underneath them, thankfully. He'd have no idea how to pull those over his cast by himself. After a bit of struggling and nearly toppling over, he's finally out of his clothing and attempting to slip into the tub. It isn't a particularly tall tub, but he grips the edges for dear life as he slowly climbs over.

He manages to settle into the water without injuring himself. There's a perfumed bar of soap on a small dish, and he scrubs at his hair and body gratefully, happy to feel clean and alive again. He pauses as he reaches his cast. The doctor had coated it in something clear to make it last in water. There isn't much room for Yuuri to clean under it. He knows this, because he's been unable to scratch at it either. He leans back, exhausted, and tries to move his toes very slowly. He winces and stops. A little too soon to be trying that.

He lays back, closing his eyes and enjoying the warmth of the water while it lasts. And it doesn't seem to last long, because Yuuri feels a bit cold now. Before he can frown and wonder why, he hears a voice from above.

"Hello!"

Yuuri screams, eyes flying open, clutching his chest and wincing as he jerks away. The head that's just popped in from the ceiling grins at him.

"Oh, don't be so afraid, darling! My face should bring you pleasure, not pain," the ghost says, fluttering his lashes at him. Even upside down, Yuuri recognizes him as Christophe, the man who had helped him the last time he'd tried to escape. Yuuri isn't feeling particularly thankful at this moment. He blushes hard when he realizes that he's exposed, and looks away as he curls up to hide himself.

"No need to be shy, my dear Yuuri. I've seen my fair share, I'm not easily impressed- _oh,"_   he pauses, peeking over, eyes wide, "oh, _my_... I'm mistaken. _Very_ mistaken." He winks at him, and Yuuri thinks he's finally ready to die and join this god-forsaken freakshow.

"Why are you here, Christophe?"

Christophe floats down to perch himself on the edge of the tub. Yuuri looks away nervously, but his head jerks back to the ghost when he speaks.

"What are your thoughts on your host? How do you feel about Viktor?"

Yuuri starts to panic. Thoughts? Feelings? Viktor?

"What's all this about? Why do you want to know?"

Christophe has a very secretive smile on his face, but Yuuri's fairly certain that he can't hold back for much longer. This ghost seems like the sort of person who enjoys instigating something dramatic and then sitting back to watch it unfold. Yuuri braces himself.

"Well, the Master cares for you."

"Oh," Yuuri says, blinking at him. "I, er, already knew that."

Christophe looks so disappointed that he's nearly distraught. Yuuri is almost sorry for ruining his fun. Almost.

"Well," the ghost huffs, "then I suppose that makes this much less difficult."

"Er. Difficult?"

"You know how the Master feels. Do you return those feelings?"

Yuuri takes a moment to process this. It isn't an easy task. What sort of feeling is he meant to be returning?

He wants to know if I also care for Viktor, he thinks, suddenly feeling a bit stupid. Of course. What else could that mean? But how does he answer? That train of thought leads him somewhere he's not sure he wants to understand.

"I... well, I mean," Yuuri looks away nervously, "I don't... I don't dislike him. I suppose."

Christophe's snort startles him, and when the ghost begins nearly wheezing with laughter, Yuuri can do nothing but stare, bewildered. What had he said that was so funny?

 _"You don't dislike him!"_ Christophe nearly howls, doubled over. "You _suppose?_ Oh, this is _rich._ You're a fair but cruel maiden, my dear! I can't wait for Viktor to hear th-"

"Wait!" Yuuri says quickly, and Christophe pauses in the middle of his ascent back into the ceiling. He looks like he's in tears, and he's muffling his laughter as best as he can. Yuuri realizes that he doesn't actually have anything to say. He tries desperately to think of something while Christophe continues to choke into his hand.

"Please tell Viktor that I would like to see him again. I mean, if that's alright?"

Christophe's laughter fades, and he gives Yuuri a sort of curious look. 

"I see," he murmurs, intrigued. "Hmm, yes, I'll inform the Master right away."

Yuuri struggles out of the tub the moment he leaves, trying his best not to slip as he dries himself and carefully puts on the clothing Yuuko had left him. The trousers are not as difficult to pull over his cast as he had thought, and he sits against the edge of the tub for balance, testing his weight on his ankle as he does. He winces, because it still hurts, and he can feel how weak it is under his body, but it isn't as unbearable as it had been before. He pulls a simple shirt over his head, then pauses as he digs through the remaining clothing. A snug-fitting vest and a finely made coat. And the last item, he realizes suddenly, is his flat cap. He had forgotten that he had even left it here his very first visit. Had Viktor held onto it for this long?

Yuuri approaches the bed again, and is proud that he's made good progress with his crutches in such a short time. He looks from the bed to the door. He had been given something to enable him to walk. He had been given real clothing, as opposed to the nightshirts he had been wearing in bed, and a real bath. And there isn't a ghost in sight to care for him.

Is this freedom? Is he allowed to roam the manor? Is he allowed to leave? To escape?

He tests his weight on his foot again, and quickly decides that he'll settle for the first option. After all, he's always wanted to explore.

The door creaks as it opens, and he freezes, but when no wailing wraiths descend upon him, he relaxes. He glances up and down the corridor. It's much nicer than the others he had been through. Yuuri has no idea where to go, so he takes a chance and heads in one direction. There doesn't seem to be any rhyme or reason to the layout of this manor, so he's sure he'll end up somewhere interesting.

He makes his way rather slowly, focusing on balancing on his crutches, but this gives him a bit more time to admire the paintings on the wall. He isn't sure why they had scared him so much. Many were bizarre, some bordering on grotesque, but there's something intriguing and almost charming about their strangeness. There are a few ordinary-looking portraits of various persons, and Yuuri would have glanced over them if it hadn't been for one.

It's a large and beautifully detailed painting, and the frame that holds it is a bright and shining gold, completely untarnished and worn by time, as the others surrounding it are. Yuuri's brain takes a little while to process the subject of this painting, and in his daze, he notices slashes, dents, and tears in the wall surrounding it. They seem as though they ought to have damaged the painting, but the portrait and its frame are pristine and whole.

It's Viktor.

He looks slightly younger, silver hair coiffed, dressed smartly in scarlet and gold, and despite the straightened nobility of his posture, his smile is small and warm. There's life in his blue eyes that Yuuri has never seen before. He can feel those eyes watching him. Yes, they're watching him. Something is watching. Yuuri's hand reaches out without him, wanting to touch those eyes. The ones that are watching him.

"A fine reminder of who I once was."

Yuuri jumps, stifling a scream and nearly losing his balance, and when he whirls around he's not entirely surprised to see Viktor standing in the doorway of what looks to be a study. His eyes are fixed on his own.

"A fine reminder," he continues almost absently, "of who I will never be again."

Yuuri isn't sure what to say. Viktor turns to him finally, a small smile on his face. It lacks the warmth of the one in the painting, but Yuuri can tell that he's trying.

"I hear Christophe has been quite the bother."

Yuuri reddens, trying not to look at him as he recalls Christophe asking him how he felt about Viktor. He wonders what he had ended up telling him.

"W-well, it's alright, really. I have the feeling that he may be a bother very often."

Viktor's eyes widen, and he seems to fight down a small burst of laughter. Yuuri blushes harder, his heart pounding. He's made Viktor laugh? Something about that feels oddly satisfying. Viktor smiles at him again, and this time Yuuri can feel it.

"Well, never mind him. I'm happy to see you out and about, Yuuri. Where are you headed?" He says this casually, but Yuuri senses his nervousness.

"I wanted to explore the manor. I-er, if that's alright, I mean?"

Viktor looks slightly relieved. Then he frowns at him thoughtfully.

"I imagine you'd like to do so on your own. However, I cannot allow you to wander about injured and alone. I'll have a guide prepared for you at once."

Before Yuuri can ask him what he means by this, Viktor whistles sharply. Yuuri gasps, surprised and delighted as a large and friendly dog bounds out from one of the walls. The same shaggy brown dog Yuuri had once seen Viktor playing with. The dog rears and places its paws on Yuuri's chest, and he's surprised at the weight he can feel despite the dog's translucent form.

"This is Makkachin, my familiar. He'll guide you safely around the mansion." Viktor's gaze is very fond as he watches the two of them. Yuuri feels himself blushing again. He would like for Viktor to look at him this way more often. He's brought out of these thoughts as Makkachin barks and pads off down the corridor. Yuuri turns to follow, but casts one last look back at Viktor.

"Thank you," he says softly. There's a spark of life in Viktor's eyes as he smiles at him, and Yuuri's heart aches as his host retreats back into his study. Perhaps he should have asked him to be his guide.

But Makkachin is a very good guide, never straying too far, and leaning against Yuuri almost-solidly whenever Yuuri loses his balance. Yuuri follows him down halls that seem nearly familiar. They pass doors belonging to other tenants, and Yuuri pauses to speak to each of them. They all seem very pleasant. Or rather, none are particularly _un_ pleasant.

A very loud ghost blocks his path to introduce himself as Jean-Jacques, and informs him that he had been a King in his former life. Yuuri isn't sure he believes this. He recalls him as the ghost swinging from the chandelier in the grand ballroom. Not very King-like behavior.

Yuuri recognizes many more guests from the deathday party. Makkachin races forward to touch noses with an enormous gray wolf, who seems to tolerate him, but just barely. His handler introduces himself as Seung-gil, and although he seems very serious and aloof, he still welcomes him kindly as he passes.

Yuuri is nearly bowled over by a very boisterous woman named Minako, who declares that he has a fine body for dancing, and to report to her at once for lessons once his ankle has healed.

Yuuri is halfway through greeting a shy ghost named Guang-Hong when he realizes what's so familiar about this hall. He knows now that the ballroom lay at the end of it. He lets Makkachin guide the way, and soon enough they're standing before the large wooden doors. There doesn't seem to be anything going on inside, but as Yuuri turns to find a new path, he freezes, noticing the set of stairs.

These stairs. He remembers.

Yuuri feels the insane urge to climb them. Makkachin whines as he does, doing his best to watch out for him as he slowly and shakily hobbles up each step. His curiosity will be the death of him, he's sure.

Once he's safely at the top, he makes his way across the balcony. As he glances at the empty ballroom, he remembers that this is where he had first seen Viktor. Carefree, smiling, laughing. Yuuri shivers, still hearing sweet shouts of joy in his ear. Will he ever hear that sound again?

He's standing before another set of stairs now, and he hesitates. Yes, he remembers these as well. He remembers the attic. Against his better judgement, he wants to see the room again. He struggles up the steps once more, Makkachin guiding him faithfully, and when he reaches the top, his heart stops.

_She's here._

The attic is windowless, illuminated by the light of lanterns, casting shadows that seem to conceal too much. Yuuri wants to run, hearing the whistle of the hatchet shrieking in his ears, but he's rooted to the spot.

The bride is standing half in shadows, but Yuuri recognizes her long blonde hair, and he's sure that green eyes will stab through him when she turns around. But she doesn't. She seems to be staring at the many portraits of her with her various husbands. Yuuri is wondering if a silent escape is possible, but to his horror, Makkachin barks and trots over to her happily. The bride turns, stepping into the light to ruffle the dog's fur. Yuuri blinks.

"Who are you?"

The richly-dressed young man standing in the center of the room fixes him with gleaming green eyes, and Yuuri can see a slow and wicked grin playing about his lips.

"Yuri."

Yuuri blinks again.

"Oh. I, er. I'm also Yuuri. It's a pleasure to meet you."

Yuri inclines his head slightly, seeming bored of his presence already. He scowls at him now.

"I know who you are. Viktor won't shut up about you."

Yuuri feels his face burning, and this seems to amuse the ghost. Yuuri desperately wants to change the subject now, and so he glances around the room at the piles of broken wedding gifts and tattered clothing. He notices a few things he hadn't had the chance to inspect very closely during his ill-fated visit last time, and he's in the middle of staring curiously at what appears to be an engagement ring embedded into the wood flooring when he becomes aware that Yuri is still watching him. He had been hoping that the ghost would grow bored of his existence once more and ignore him. No such luck.

"You can have it all, if you like. I was just wondering what I ought to do with it. I'd like to burn it all, but I can't. I've tried."

Yuuri frowns, not really understanding. He examines the portraits, and suddenly realizes that they too are surrounded by damaged walls, slashed and scorched. The paint still looks as fresh as it had when Yuuri was here last. Perfect, not at all worn by time.

"A fine reminder," Yuri says, sounding bored again. The words bring someone else into mind.

"Viktor said the same. What do you mean? What are these portraits to remind you of?"

"The lives we no longer live," Yuri says with a shrug.

Yuuri frowns. He often forgets that the inhabitants of this manor have led former lives. _Alive_ lives. What had each been like, and why were they here? For some odd reason, he asks Yuri.

"What have the guests of this mansion done to be here? Is there no place else for them?"

To his surprise, Yuri laughs. It seems genuine, but for the wrong reasons.

"What haven't we done? We're sinners, and this is our hell. We chose to be here."

Yuuri doesn't understand at all. Sinners? Yuuri had certainly been frightened by the ghosts of this manor at first, but now he feels as though some are even his friends now. How have they sinned?

"We've all committed atrocities in our past lives," Yuri continues, as though guessing his next question. "Some worse than others. Others merely thoughts, seeds of greed or wrath or corruption just barely sprouting. Each one has entered the manor willingly. And every last one of us has chosen a way out willingly. So here we are. But not for long, maybe."

Yuuri feels a sense of foreboding, but he wants to hear more. Yuri seems to have finished speaking, and he's gone back to glaring at the portraits around the room. Yuuri searches wildly for something to ask.

"And Viktor? How did he come to be here? How did he come to be the Master of this mansion?"

Yuri's smirk is very disconcerting. Yuuri shudders, knowing that he's not going to like what he's about to hear.

"Yes, the primordial sinner. The one who cursed us all."

Yuuri's anxiety skyrockets. Curse?

"His greed and selfishness are the cause of all this. His utter lack of empathy. His disregard for anyone but himself."

Yuuri is shocked. Despite his encounters with the man, Viktor had never seemed as terrible as Yuri is describing him.

"What has he done? How has he cursed you?"

Yuri is silent for a while, seeming torn between toying with him or outright telling him everything. Thankfully, he chooses the latter.

"Viktor was the heir to a very wealthy and powerful family. He let his status get to him. He let himself grow greedy, and there eventually came a time when he would not hesitate to put the needs or even the lives of others beneath his own. Scandal, political intrigue, murder. He never lifted a finger to put an end to it. As long as the struggles of others filled his coffers, he turned a blind eye. He turned a blind eye to many things," Yuri adds, sneering.

Yuuri is dumbstruck. He can't imagine anything of the sort. Had Viktor truly been so cruel? Yuri continues, and Yuuri struggles through his trembling haze to listen, though he's not sure if he wants to anymore.

"Viktor's tenacity would have been admirable had it not been for his selfishness. So when he took his own life, he made a deal with whatever gods listening. A thousand lives for his."

This is too much. Yuuri can't decide which thing to question. His mind is whirling out of control, nearly in denial.

"His own life?"

"Yes," Yuri says almost cheerfully, "his own life. When his allies began to turn against him, and his grasp on his family's power became tenuous, he hanged himself. Coward."

_Coward._

Eyes turned up towards the high ceiling, fixed on something that used to belong to them. Yuuri begins to feel very ill. No, this can't be happening. Impossible.

"And so he set the wheels in motion. We're all cogs in this machine, you see. We all follow suit. We follow suit, and he slowly fills his coffers once more."

"Follow suit?" Yuuri whispers, realization dawning.

"Yes, and I followed first. Like a good younger brother."

Yuuri's jaw drops. _Brother?_ Yuri looks bored and almost annoyed at his reaction, as if to say 'yes, really, move on.' But Yuuri is still amazed, not having ever considered that Viktor might have siblings. The thought of him even having any family at all is shocking.

"When Viktor died, I went mad and took my own life not even a year after. But not for him. I wasn't upset that he left me. I was upset that he left me with _them._ "

His gaze sweeps around the room once more to look at the wedding portraits with disdain. Yuuri's eyes follow, and he begins to understand.

"Your husbands?" he asks quietly. Yuri nods, his eyes fixing on each one with hatred.

"Yes, my dear husbands. Viktor's death marked me as the next heir, and as such I was immediately married off to the richest and most groveling pigs I have ever known. All vying for the chance to have the heir to the Nikiforov fortune as their bride."

"You don't look like a bride," Yuuri blurts out. Yuri doesn't seem to react to this.

"No. I don't. I suppose this is the one good thing that my brother has ever done for me." He shrugs again, and looks around the room, a sinister smile forming on his lips. He steps towards the first painting. The first husband.

"My dearest Alfred. I poisoned him."

He moves to the next.

"Darling Frederick. I slit his throat in his sleep. Burglars, of course."

Next.

"Ivan. Our lovely summer home burnt down. With him inside."

Another portrait. Yuri pauses.

"I can't remember this one's name," he admits. "He didn't last very long. Took a terrible fall down the stairs one evening. Broke his neck."

He moves to the last one, and his smile is almost fond.

"George. Perhaps the cruelest of them all. I enjoyed this one very much. How sweetly he had screamed under my hatchet."

Yuuri suddenly recalls the stretching portraits. The blonde woman sitting atop the grave of a man with a hatchet buried into his skull. He shudders hard.

Yuri turns to him, and Yuuri feels the disturbing sensation of having six sets of green eyes fixed on him at once.

"The many times I had made myself a widow hadn't gone unnoticed. I was a madwoman, I was ill, I was to be locked away. And so I took myself before they could. A poison as sweet and as deadly as I had been."

Yuuri is silent. This is too much. He's been telling himself this over and over. Too much. Too much. He finally brings himself to speak the thoughts that had been forming in his head all the while.

"Every guest in this manor. They've all taken their own lives."

Yuri nods, his gaze distant now, sullen, the familiar scowl returning to his face. Yuuri thinks of every smiling face he'd seen in the mansion so far. All sinners, all having killed themselves. He thinks of Viktor's corpse hanging from the ceiling again, and he feels even more ill.

"And Viktor made a deal? What does that mean?"

Yuri snaps out of his daze, laughing mirthlessly. 

"Ask him yourself."

As Yuuri slowly makes his way back down the stairs, he sees the light of the lantern flare and flicker as Yuri tries to burn the paintings once more.

*

To Viktor's immense shock, Yuuri visits him in his study one day.

It's been over two weeks since the boy had been brought in, and his injury has been healing nicely. Phichit reports his condition daily. Yuuri is able to put more weight on his ankle, and has even taken short walks without the aid of his crutches. He's been given a walking cane today, Viktor notices.

Viktor feels a sudden rush of dread, of reluctance. The more Yuuri recovers, the sooner he'll leave.

Selfish, he tells himself sternly. He had vowed long ago to repent for his many sins. He hasn't been doing a very good job of it when it comes to Yuuri.

Yuuri staying will ensure the redemption of all within these walls. This prison. So is it truly selfish? Is it selfish to want to save the souls he himself had damned? Viktor wishes he knew the answer.

He covers his surprise with a smile as Yuuri enters. He's wearing one of the many fine coats Viktor had bought for him. It looks very good on him. Viktor tries to focus.

"Good evening, Yuuri."

"Good evening," Yuuri responds with a shy smile. Viktor melts. He isn't sure what to say next. He notices Yuuri's face growing very red.

"I... um, I was wondering if maybe... that is, if you'd like to..." Yuuri trails off, looking away. Viktor is mystified.

"What is it, Yuuri?"

"Well-I mean, it's just that, er, there's so much more to this manor that I haven't explored yet. And I thought that maybe... I mean, it gets awfully dull, exploring on my own. Makkachin isn't exactly great at conversation."

Viktor gapes at him, hoping and disbelieving all at once. Is Yuuri asking what he thinks he's asking? The boy seems to steel his nerves for a moment.

"I would like for you to be my guide once more. Please."

 _Say something_ , Viktor's brain finally hisses at him after a pause. Yuuri fidgets as he waits for an answer.

"Yes! I-that is, of course, I'd be more than happy to. Right away." Anything for you, he thinks suddenly. He wants to see Yuuri happy.

Yuuri smiles, looking relieved. It falters for a bit, and he looks nervous again.

"Right away? So, may we go now? I'm very eager to see more."

"And I'm very eager to show you," Viktor says without thinking. This earns him a harder blush. He can nearly feel the heat from where he's seated.

When they exit the study, they both look at each other expectantly, as though asking where they want to go next. Right, Viktor thinks, feeling foolish, I'm the guide.

"Have you seen the grounds yet, Yuuri? They're quite lovely when the sun sets."

Yuuri shakes his head, so Viktor leads him to the foyer. He sees Yuuri take notice of the living flowers and plants, and turns away before he can question him.

The doors open on their own, and the two of them stroll down the pathway. Viktor sees Yuuri glance around curiously, as though unable to keep his eyes on just one thing for too long. Viktor feels the same pride he had felt the day Yuuri had arrived at the manor during the day. He had looked awestruck at its splendor. Viktor ensured that the grounds were well cared for. Expertly-paved paths, trimmed shrubbery, beautiful gardens, grand statues and fountains. 

"Who takes care of the grounds?"

As though on cue, Otabek emerges from the stables, hefting heavy gardening supplies. Yuuri jumps in surprise, and Otabek merely blinks at him.

"Good evening, Master. Yuuri." He inclines his head politely.

"Ah, a proper introduction this time. This is Otabek, our groundskeeper. He maintains the land, and reports to me whenever we are in need of mortal assistance for supplies and such. Occasionally Emil will work alongside him in the gardens. And," he adds with a small smile, "he's taken care of your horse in the few times you've brought him."

Yuuri nods in greeting, looking very grateful.

"Thank you for taking care of Vicchan, sir," Yuuri says to Otabek. The man nods and continues on his way after excusing himself.

"Vicchan?" Viktor asks, trying not to smile.

"A coincidence," Yuuri mutters, blushing and looking away. Viktor feels himself nearly blush as well, because teasing Yuuri is far more fun than it ought to be.

As they stroll through the grounds, Viktor is surprised and pleased to find how naturally they fall into conversation. He realizes that this is his first time speaking to Yuuri as an equal. He's no longer the intimidating host, or a figure hovering over his sickbed.

At one point he makes Yuuri laugh, and it makes him feel so weak that he flickers. He hopes that Yuuri hasn't noticed, but when he glances at him quickly, he freezes, because the boy is giving him a peculiarly soft look.

Their eyes meet, and Yuuri blushes hotly but doesn't look away. The light of the setting sun sets his eyes ablaze, a molten gold that Viktor can feel warming him through.

"It looks beautiful," Yuuri blurts, his face nearly glowing. Viktor is dumbstruck, and Yuuri continues after a small pause.

"The sunset," Yuuri clarifies. "It... it looks even more lovely when I see it through you."

Viktor takes a moment to understand, glancing over his shoulder at the horizon. Yuuri must be seeing the sun through his translucent form. Is it really so lovely to him?

"It looks lovelier in your eyes," he says, and he'd immediately regret it had it not been for the delightful shade of pink Yuuri's face has become. Viktor wants to feel its warmth. 

Yuuri hardly flinches when Viktor's palm cups his cheek. Viktor focuses on solidifying, and sees the boy shudder when he brushes his thumb across his skin.

"Can you feel me?" Viktor asks softly. Yuuri nods slowly, his eyes never leaving his face. Viktor tries hard to maintain his form, but Yuuri doesn't resist when he brings his face closer, and this makes Viktor flicker nervously and fade before their lips meet. Yuuri shivers at the cold of his touch, and Viktor pulls away.

The boy is trembling, and Viktor isn't sure if it's the cold or something more. They stay like this for some time. Eyes locked. Standing so close together.

Yuuri is the one reaching out now, and he lays his palm against Viktor's chest hesitantly. Viktor tries to make himself real for him, but he fades again, and Yuuri's hand goes right through him. He shivers again and withdraws, and Viktor wishes that he wouldn't. He wants Yuuri's warmth inside of him. Always.

"I'm sorry."

Yuuri looks up at him at these words, seeming to search his face, but as his lips part to speak, Viktor turns back towards the mansion.

"Come, now. It's getting dark. You ought to get some rest."

He can feel Yuuri's eyes on him the entire walk back.

*

After the third week, Yuuri's cast is removed.

The doctor is called back, and Yuuri has to look away as he cheerfully saws through the plaster. Viktor is beside him once more, seated on the edge of the bed and speaking soft words of encouragement. He's so solid, but Yuuri can see the strained effort in his face. His hand is resting on Yuuri's and it's almost warm.

The doctor washes his skin with a wet rag, massaging it gently and rubbing salves onto it. Yuuri shudders hard, wincing slightly. But it certainly hurts much less.

As Yuuri's ankle is bandaged, Viktor is given instructions by the doctor on how often to replace it. He's also told the various exercises Yuuri ought to do to rebuild his strength. He seems to latch onto these words eagerly, vowing to take good care of him. He squeezes Yuuri's hand gently as he says it, and Yuuri is surprised at how much he can feel it.

Both Phichit and Yuuko materialize instantly after Viktor sees the doctor out. They both look very excited to assist him.

"Yuuri! You'll be fine in no time, I promise!" Phichit says, grinning broadly at him. "You can trust me, I was a medic in my past life!"

"Yes," Yuuko says sweetly, "and I was a nurse. We'll have you healed up right away."

Yuuko goes to draw a bath for him as Phichit administers a bit of medication for the pain. He slips him a thimble of brandy, winking at him.

"This'll warm you up. You seem so cold so often. Too much time among the dead, hm?"

Yuuri's insides freeze despite the warmth of the drink. He falls silent, and Phichit notices, frowning at him in concern.

"Is something wrong, Yuuri?"

"What have you done to end up in this manor, Phichit?"

Phichit's eyes widen. He stares at Yuuri, his expression falling blank. There's a long silence. Their eyes meet, and Yuuri refuses to look away.

"I... you," Phichit's voice trembles slightly, "you know? You know how each soul earns their place in this mansion?"

Yuuri nods slowly. Phichit continues to stare. He breaks their gaze, looking down at his hands. At the bottle of medication. Yuuri has a very bad feeling about this.

"Malpractice." He closes his eyes. "I took three lives before I came across this manor. There was no escaping after that."

Silence.

"Why?" Yuuri's voice cracks as he says it.

"To put them out of their misery. To end their suffering. But a life is a life, and I had stolen it from the undeserving without their consent. I suppose it was justice, for me to finally take my own." He gestures towards the bottles of medication. "It was painful. Very painful. I thought I would be free, but I am here instead. Waiting. We all are."

Yuuri shakes his head slowly, his mind racing. Phichit had caused his patients to overdose on their medication. What if he had done so to _him?_ How can he trust him now?

Phichit seems to read his thoughts. He places the bottle on the bed stand.

"You're more than welcome to take it yourself. I understand."

Yuuri swallows hard. He doesn't want to ask his next question.

"And Yuuko?"

"The same. Nearly. She would drown the little ones for whom death was certain. She didn't want them to suffer. But a life is a life. She had no right."

Yuuri feels very ill. In his daze, he tries to latch onto something Phichit had just said.

"You said that you all are waiting? Waiting for what?"

Phichit smiles sadly at him.

"Waiting for the thousandth death to set us free. A tainted and willing soul ready to be sacrificed in order to break this curse."

Yuuri's vision blurs. How is the goodness of one's soul measured? And his own? Would he ever do something that might keep him here?

_A thousand lives for his._

Yuuko returns to announce that his bath is ready. Against her insistence to help, he bathes alone. He wonders what atrocities the other guests of this manor have committed. The warm water suddenly feels much colder. He looks around for any signs of a ghostly presence, but there's no one to be seen.

*

"No."

"But Mas-"

_"No."_

"For god's sake, Viktor, _listen to me-_ "

"I refuse."

"But consider-"

"I will consider nothing. Leave at once. I have never done this, nor do I ever intend to."

"Then call it something else, it doesn't matter. A banquet, a ball, anyth-"

"On my deathday? Absolutely not."

Christophe glares at him stubbornly. Viktor still can't believe what he's asking of him.

A deathday ball in his honor. Ridiculous. Viktor has never celebrated that day. Why should he? That day had marked his greatest act of selfishness, and had damned nearly a thousands souls. No, there isn't anything to celebrate. Why is Christophe so insistent?

"Why are you pressing this matter? What is the point? Do you need a chance to indulge in your drunken gallivanting? Is that it?"

The look on Christophe's face makes Viktor want to disappear, because he finally realizes why he's asking, and what's coming next.

"But, Viktor... don't you think that Yuuri might want to experience a ghostly ball just once? After all, you're going to let him go once he's healed, aren't you?" He bats his eyelashes at him.

Viktor is torn between horror and fury. How _dare_ he?

"You will _not_ use him against me. That's a low blow."

But his mind is already racing with possibilities. He thinks of every conceivable way he might impress Yuuri. The music, the dancing, the grandeur of the ballroom. He'd have it swept and polished straight away. Clean and suited for the living. He'd send for the finest delicacies the city offered, as well as the finest clothing for Yuuri. He'd have a tailor brought in, just as he had once planned.

Christophe sees him becoming flustered, and the smug look on his face is maddening.

"Well? You want him to fall in love with you, don't you?"

Viktor hadn't realized that he had been pacing anxiously until he hears these words and freezes. Love? He closes his eyes for a moment.

"Yes."

There isn't any point in denying it. He loves him. This boy. This mortal. He loves Yuuri. He doesn't know why. He doesn't know how. But he knows that he loves him.

Christophe gives him a very sympathetic look. 

"You poor bastard." He claps his hands together, suddenly looking very excited. "Come, then! Let's prepare. We've a lot of work to do. A deathday comes but once a year, does it not?" He winks at Viktor, and Viktor wishes he could die again.

*

Yuuri hasn't seen Viktor in quite a few days. He feels a little hurt. Ever since their walk, they had begun visiting each other more often. Viktor would watch him poke about his study curiously. He seemed delighted that Yuuri was well-read enough to peruse the many books lining his walls. He had told Yuuri that he was a well-traveled man in his past life, and collecting books was a passion of his. Yuuri had felt something strange upon hearing this. He had wanted to ask Viktor more about his past life, but every time he nearly did, Yuri's words came back to haunt him.

Selfish. Coward. A thousand lives for his.

None of these things seemed to matter whenever they were together. Yuuri wonders if this may be selfish of him.

They had gone on a few more walks throughout the mansion. Yuuri had noticed that Viktor avoided taking him through the gallery. Where his corpse was. Yuuri didn't mind, because he didn't want to see it, either.

Viktor often stared at him a certain way when he thought he wasn't looking. It made Yuuri blush. He still remembers the almost-feel of his palm against his cheek. How beautiful he had looked, glowing a soft orange in the light of the setting sun. It had complemented his blue eyes nicely. And when he had leaned closer...

What had he intended to do? Yuuri feels as though he knows the answer. Every time he catches Viktor staring at him, he hopes that he'll do it again.

Viktor's absence is off-putting. Yuuri has tried to pass by his study a few times, but the one time he's brave enough to knock, he receives no answer. Where is Viktor?

It's much easier for Yuuri to wander the mansion without his cast. He's careful not to place too much weight on his ankle, and makes sure to stop and rest as much as he can. Yuuko has been bringing him ice to place against his skin whenever it begins to heat and swell. Phichit changes his bandages, and Yuuri eventually begins to trust him enough to let him continue giving him medicine.

Yuuri is in the middle of getting out of bed one day when a mortal enters his room. Viktor is nowhere to be seen.

Yuuri stares, opened-mouthed. Before he can ask who in the hell she is, the woman approaches him, arms full of clothing. She smiles kindly at him.

"Come, boy, up you go. Stand still."

She whips out tape measure, wrapping it about him in various places. She hums a bit vacantly as she goes, and for a moment Yuuri sees a gleam of red behind her eyes. The light, of course. She begins to dress him, pinning and making marks in the fabric with chalk, and Yuuri tries not to fidget. What is going on? The clothing is very rich, soft and luxurious and far above his level of wealth. Had Viktor called for this mortal tailor? Why?

When she finishes, she takes up the clothing once more, smiling sweetly at him.

"I'll have these taken in and fitted straight away, sir. I shall have them sent to the master once I've finished."

Yuuri watches her go, still stunned. He's not at all surprised when a ghost appears beside him.

"Very nice," Christophe says cheerfully. "Such finery! You'll look very splendid tomorrow night, my boy."

Yuuri stares at him.

"Tomorrow night?" he repeats dully. Does he even want to know?

Christophe looks surprised, although Yuuri isn't sure if it's feigned or not.

"The master hasn't spoken to you?"

Yuuri feels hurt again as he shakes his head. Where is Viktor?

"I see," Christophe murmurs, staring off into the distance. "Well, then. Once the preparations are complete, he'll report to you immediately. I will make sure of that." He says this last bit with a small smirk.

Yuuri stares at the spot where the ghost had been. With a start, his last words finally register. Viktor will report to him. Viktor will come visit him.

Yuuri doesn't know what tomorrow may bring, but he knows that it will bring Viktor.

And it does.

He awakes the next morning to a knock on his door. A very young ghost with outrageous red and blonde hair greets him, informing him that the Master has summoned him to his study. Yuuri's heart races as he readies himself, trying to look as presentable as possible. Viktor wants to see him. He hurries down the hall as fast as his ankle will allow him to.

He hesitates just outside the doors to Viktor's study. His mind races as he tries to imagine the many different reasons why Viktor might have summoned him. Does he want to go for another walk with him? Is he letting him leave the manor? Yuuri blushes hard as another possibility crosses his mind. Would Viktor try to touch him again? Would he bring his face near his once more? Would he maybe hold him close? Yuuri shivers hard, banishing these thoughts as he knocks nervously. 

"Come in."

Yuuri enters slowly, trying not to tremble as he finally sees Viktor. He's leaning against his desk, arms crossed, watching him intently as he approaches. He looks very regal and composed. A little _too_ composed. He seems almost as though he's trying very hard to keep himself together. Yuuri notices his hands twitching, though he tries to hide them now in his trouser pockets. He clears his throat, though Yuuri thinks he hears his voice tremble slightly.

"Yuuri. Please forgive my absence. I've been very busy with preparations for tonight."

Yuuri stares at him, waiting for him to elaborate, because he most definitely still has no clue what is going on. Or what _will_ be going on.

"You see," Viktor continues, "today is the anniversary of my death." He says this with as straight a face as he can manage, but Yuuri can see a small frown tugging at his lips. Yuuri suddenly feels very awkward. Is he supposed to congratulate him? Viktor spares him by speaking again.

"I've decided to throw a ball in... _celebration._ And," he falters suddenly, nearly losing his composure, "I would like to formally invite you. Personally. Er, I mean, that is... you've yet to experience one, so I thought that you might like to. If that's alright?"

He's growing more flustered by the second, and Yuuri finds this oddly endearing. A ball, he thinks, amazed. He recalls Christophe's deathday party, viewed in frantic glimpses from behind a balcony banister. A ball sounds much grander. And for the Master of the mansion himself, it's sure to be quite something.

Deathday, he thinks again, thinking of the gallery room. It's no wonder why Viktor isn't happy about this day. Why, then, would he host a grand celebration in its honor? Yuuri thinks it best not to try to understand the meaning of anything these ghosts do in this manor. In any case, Viktor's next words cause his mind to go blank.

"Yuuri. I would also like to formally ask you to accompany me to the ball." He looks very stiff, as though fighting down a growing panic. Yuuri feels the same way.

"You want me to accompany you to the ball," Yuuri says slowly, trying to believe it, "as your-"

"Yes," Viktor says a bit too quickly, cutting him off. "Yes, if you accept."

"Yes," Yuuri breathes, just as quickly. Viktor gives him such a soft and relieved look that he feels his face grow hot. When Viktor beams at him, he nearly collapses.

"Excellent! I'll have you bathed and trimmed and clothed right away! Mila and Sara shall do the honor of preparing you. Once you're ready, I'll send for Phichit to escort you. Come now, no time to waste. Off you go!"

He seems very excited, and Yuuri feels almost giddy as he leaves to head back towards the master bedroom. He's going to accompany Viktor to the ball. Will they touch? Will they dance? Will they...

Yuuri rushes down the rest of the corridor as fast as he can. He doesn't want to be late, not even by a second.

*

Viktor is panicking.

He paces back and forth before the doors of the grand ballroom, wringing his hands. He tugs at his gloves fretfully, fighting not to run his fingers through his nicely coiffed hair. He catches sight of himself in one of the floor-length mirrors, and tries not to adjust himself too much. He doesn't want to risk undoing any of the work his attendants had done in preparing his dress.

He looks fine, he tells himself. The white waistcoat and the crisp white shirt beneath it are pristine and unblemished, as is the white silk cravat about his neck. A gleaming ruby adorns the pin, and Viktor eyes it nervously, hoping that it isn't too much. He pulls his black tailcoat a little tighter around himself, trying to appear a bit slimmer and fit. He's about two seconds from ruining his hair when Christophe walks through the doors and raises his eyebrows at him.

"He won't be here for at least another hour, you know."

Viktor knows. He knows this very much. It doesn't stop him from pulling at his gloves for the thousandth time.

"You look fine," Christophe adds, taking his arm gently and drawing him back inside the ballroom. "Come, we've still a few things to finish preparing."

"Yes," Viktor says a bit absently, "of course." He casts one last look down the corridor before he goes.

The ballroom is alive with music and laughter, and the floor is already full of dancing couples. Good, Viktor thinks. He wants a bright and cheerful atmosphere when Yuuri arrives.

Guests float by to either congratulate him or offer their condolences. It's all the same to Viktor.

Remembering his death is never an easy task. It's precisely why he's never celebrated his deathday with a ball or a banquet, as other ghosts so often did.

His death had been his greatest shame. To be such a vile and power-hungry coward in life, only to become so jaded and bitter in death. No, there isn't anything to celebrate.

Madame Lilia would throw a fit had she known. Or perhaps she does know. He had requested mortal assistance to prepare for the ball, but hadn't revealed what the ball was honoring.

The medium is the one responsible for this. She's the lofty judge above the groveling criminal, handing down his sentence in disdain. Viktor's soul had been selfish and desperately tenacious enough to see an afterlife on earth. But that hadn't been enough for him.

_"Will you sacrifice the lives of a thousand criminals to pardon your own sins?"_

Viktor had accepted without hesitation.

He needed them. These souls. His knowledge of political intrigue had made it simple to coerce mortals into willingly entering his grounds, often through letters or possessed hearsay. And the more souls he collected, the easier it became. Every ghost in his mansion had been more than eager to assist him in acquiring these souls. After all, they'd be freed of this prison once the thousandth death occurred within these walls.

With each passing soul, Viktor becomes less and less convinced that this plan will work. What reason does he have to believe in the medium's words? What if nothing happens? What if they are truly trapped here forever? 

A thousand lives for his.

And what if that means he's the only soul that survives? What of the others? The friends he had made. The many guests that brought his empty halls to life.

His own brother.

Viktor has spent most of his afterlife trying to redeem himself in his eyes, but deep down he knows that he hasn't tried hard enough. Would he ever get to do so? Would his brother's soul be reborn, as well as the other hundreds of ghosts he had come to love as family?

Madame Lilia hadn't answered that question. Viktor is too afraid to ask it again.

_Coward._

He tries his best to smile at every group that flocks to him, but his thoughts are elsewhere. He can't focus. This is Christophe's fault, he thinks, glancing around to find the other ghost and give him a sullen glare. He spots him, but before he can prepare his most sour pout, he realizes that Christophe is nodding towards the front of the ballroom.

Viktor turns to see that Mila and Sara have entered. It takes him a few seconds to realize why Christophe had thought this significant enough to bring to attention.

He sees them greet Phichit, who promptly disappears. 

Everything hits Viktor at once, and if he could pale further, he would.

Mila and Sara have finished preparing Yuuri for the ball, and now Phichit has left to escort the boy here.

Don't panic, he tells himself frantically. He abandons the group he'd been speaking with mid-sentence, making his way towards the doors. He pauses before stepping out. Should he wait for Yuuri here? Or should he be waiting for him outside? He ought to bring him in properly, he decides. That would be the gentlemanly thing to do. That's what a good host would do.

He takes a moment to brace himself before he steps through the doors, but no amount of time could have prepared him.

Yuuri has just stepped out from the corridor to stand before the set of steps leading down to the entrance. Phichit stands beside him, but quickly fades when he catches sight of Viktor. Viktor thinks he may have seen him wink at him.

Yuuri is beautiful.

His black hair is pushed back, sleek and shining. The tailored clothing accentuates his body perfectly, trousers well-fitted and shirt and waistcoat snug. All black, mirroring Viktor's white. But his black tailcoat matches Viktor's own, and Viktor decides that the cut looks much better on him. The sapphire fixed onto the pin in Yuuri's black cravat is nearly blinding.

Yuuri's eyes never leave his as he descends, and when he reaches the last step, Viktor extends his arm out for him. He's surprised to find that it takes very little effort to remain solid as Yuuri hesitantly places a gloved hand on him.

Tonight will be perfect. Tonight Yuuri will fall in love with him. He has to. It's Viktor's last chance before he has to let him go. He knows he'll never return.

"You look stunning," Viktor says softly, and Yuuri turns slightly pink. He seems to be trying not to look at him but isn't doing a good job of it.

"T-thanks. So do you."

The doors open on their own, and the way Yuuri gasps makes Viktor wish he had a heart to beat faster for him.

*

The ballroom is so much more beautiful than Yuuri has ever seen it.

It's golden and gleaming, so very bright and alive. The music is lovely and entirely unlike the dreary wail of the organ he had seen the old man playing last time. He looks around for the source, and is thrilled to see Leo sitting before a grand piano, playing something gentle and sweet. A small group of ghosts plays various instruments beside him, and Yuuri recognizes one of the violinists as Guang-Hong. He seems a lot less shy now as he plays, and he seems to play twice as confidently when Leo turns to smile at him lovingly.

There are tables laden with rich delicacies that immediately make his mouth water. It looks real, unlike the odd and not quite solid-looking food that the ghosts are cheerfully eating. They cheer aloud as they raise their glasses in a toast, and Yuuri can nearly see the wine course through their bodies as they drink. He shivers. How odd!

Viktor notices this, and looks down at him in concern. He does this often whenever Yuuri shudders, worried that his touch is cold and unpleasant. Yuuri grips his arm tighter before he can try to pull away.

"Don't let go," he tells him quietly, and Viktor's face is nearly unreadable as he pulls him closer.

They make their way around the ballroom, being stopped often for conversation. Yuuri remembers that this ball is to honor Viktor's death, and therefore he's the center of attention. This attention extends to Yuuri, naturally. It makes him rather nervous. Being approached by the tenants of the manor in a few corridors had been one thing. But now they flock endlessly, surrounding him excitedly. A few even go so far as to lay their hands on him, and though they are as polite as possible about it, one look from Viktor puts an end to their curiosity.

"You've made quite the impression on my guests, Yuuri," Viktor murmurs, and Yuuri can see him nearly smiling.

"Oh," Yuuri says rather meekly, "it's only because I'm here with you. I'm not special or anything, really."

Viktor gives him an odd look that softens into something so pure that Yuuri has to look away.

"That isn't true at all, Yuuri. You're unique. You're perfect. Anyone can see that."

Yuuri's face is so hot, he's amazed he hasn't burst into flames yet.

More ghosts come to pay their respects, and Yuuri grins as Phichit comes forward to clasp his hand in greeting. 

"Hello again, my friend! I hope you're enjoying yourself? Are you feeling well?"

Yuuri nods. Phichit had given him a bit of medication to dull any pain he might feel standing for so long in the ballroom. He still advised plenty of time to rest, and he tells Viktor this rather pointedly.

"Master, you had better take good care of him! Don't sweep him off his feet the entire night!"

Yuuri thinks he'd like Viktor to do exactly that. But he lets Viktor lead him to a seat before one of the grand tables. At his gesture, several servers come forward to offer endless dishes. Yuuri is almost overwhelmed as he samples each one, sweet and savory and nearly melting in his mouth, and every bite is as delicious as the last. Viktor watches him eagerly, as though awaiting his approval.

"It's amazing," Yuuri nearly chokes, and he coughs when Viktor beams brightly at him.

"Come now, we can't have you die in the middle of _my_ ball! How very rude."

Yuuri can't help but laugh, and the two of them make casual conversation as Yuuri rests, watching the crowds and whispering to each other.

"Who is that?" He nods towards a sulking ghost. He seems a bit familiar.

"Michele. Sara's twin. He's terribly protective of her. Watch."

Yuuri sees Mila take Sara's hand, and Michele's form flickers in distress. He flickers harder when Emil steps forward to greet her. Yuuri has to stifle a snort.

He suddenly catches sight of the frightening older man. The organ player. He recalls seeing him approach Viktor angrily in the hallway one day, but can't remember his name. He asks Viktor.

"Yakov. He seems to think of himself as my father-figure. I've grown quite fond of him. Despite his constant yelling, that is."

Yuuri smiles at this, but feels strange. He wonders what sort of person Viktor's actual father had been. But tonight doesn't seem like the sort of night to ruin with such questions.

"Ah," Viktor says suddenly, smiling sympathetically at a distraught-looking ghost, "it seems as though Georgi's request to dance has been turned down. Again. By the same woman. The poor bastard."

The grin forming on Yuuri's face falters for a moment. He's noticed something in common among most of the ghosts. Something obvious that he had for some reason overlooked.

He sees couples forming to dance, or couples linking arms, or couples embracing discreetly. Or not so discreetly, Yuuri thinks as he catches sight of Christophe intertwined with a handsome brunette man in a corner of the ballroom. He looks up to see "King" Jean-Jacques dancing with a beautiful woman around the chandelier. As Yuuri scans the room, he's suddenly very shocked to see Yuri leading the quiet and intimidating groundskeeper, Otabek, in a dance in the middle of the floor. Yuri's face looks odd, and Yuuri realizes that it's because he isn't frowning or scowling. Far from it. Otabek's stony features have softened into something almost expressive. Yuuri looks away, blushing madly.

So many couples. Dancing. Embracing. He looks at Viktor out of the corner of his eye.

Are they a couple? Would Viktor ask him to dance? Would they embrace?

Yuuri decides to answer these himself.

He gets to his feet shakily, wondering if it's his ankle or his nerves causing him to feel weak. Viktor glances up at him in surprise, and his eyes widen as Yuuri bows slightly and offers his arm.

"I... will you-I mean," Yuuri clears his throat nervously, "may I have this dance, Master Nikiforov?"

Viktor seems stunned, but he recovers quickly, rising to accept his arm.

"With pleasure, sir."

Yuuri leads him into the throng of dancers, of hundreds of couples holding each other close, and they seem to part for them respectfully. Yuuri stops in the dead center, and their eyes lock. Viktor bows gracefully to him, and Yuuri does his best to do so just as elegantly. When their hands meet, Yuuri feels his heart pound harder. Viktor feels so real. He looks so real. He's nearly warm. The hand that places itself delicately at his waist is nearly warm. Yuuri presses a hand to a chest that is nearly warm, and can feel the beat of a heart that's nearly there.

As if on cue, the music softens into something slow and gentle, and they dance, their eyes never leaving each other's face. They move fluidly, melding together as one, and although Yuuri can see couples exchanging partners out of the corner of his eyes, he refuses to let his go. Viktor seems to feel the same.

He's lost in eyes that feel so very real. There's an emotion shining strongly in them, and Yuuri tries to name it. He wants to know it. He wants to feel it.

A hand lifts from Viktor's chest to trail up to his cheek. Yuuri sees his eyes widen slightly, but he makes no move to pull away. He leans into his touch, and despite the fact that he's wearing gloves, Yuuri can almost feel his skin.

Viktor's hand tightens slightly where it's gripping his waist, and Yuuri gasps softly as he's pulled closer. Yes, Viktor is so incredibly real right now. He's so real, and so is the hand that slides against his neck, making him shiver as it pushes back. He feels Viktor's palm cradling his head now, fingers entwined in his hair. Yuuri's arms make their way about Viktor's neck, and he wonders for a moment if they may be improper. But he quickly decides that he doesn't care, because he's so close to Viktor that his legs nearly give way.

His injured ankle certainly doesn't help, and he nearly stumbles. Viktor catches him, and a slow and warm smile forms on his lips.

"Hold on tight."

Before Yuuri can question him, he feels himself lifted. He gasps, clinging to Viktor as they ascend. They're hardly more than a few feet above the crowd, but Yuuri looks down in fear. Viktor holds him very close, and whispers into his ear.

"Don't look down. Look only at me."

Their eyes meet again, and when Yuuri finally understands that love is what's shining in Viktor's, he draws closer at the same time that Viktor brings him forward.

Yuuri can almost feel his lips. Almost. He can feel the fingers in his hair, and the arm tight around his waist, and the face he cups in both hands. Almost.

Viktor's lips move against his, and Yuuri shivers hard. They aren't warm, but they aren't cold, either. They're something. Almost.

Yuuri presses himself forward almost desperately, wanting to feel him. He'd give anything just to feel him.

But he can't. Almost.

Yuuri pulls away, blinking back tears of frustration. Viktor looks surprised, though Yuuri can see the longing in his eyes. Eyes that are almost real.

"Why can't I have you?" Yuuri whispers, his voice trembling. "Why can't I touch you?"

Viktor looks almost hurt. Yuuri knows that Viktor doesn't have the answers that he needs. Yuuri would have to find them on his own.

"What can I do to be with you?" he asks suddenly. Viktor looks at him sharply, and Yuuri sees the fear in his face.

"Nothing," he says quickly. Yuuri cuts him off before he can speak again.

"That isn't true, is it? There has to be a way to lift this curse."

Viktor freezes. His eyes are impossibly wide. They're filled with terror.

"How do you know?" he says in a strained whisper.

"I've learned a lot of things within these walls. Including who resides here, and how they came to be here. I know what they've done. I know what _you've_ done."

Viktor's horror mounts with every passing word, but he looks ill at these last ones. Yuuri can feel him shaking. They descend a little too quickly, and Viktor flickers, nearly causing Yuuri to lose his balance as his foot hits the ground with more force than he had expected. Viktor looks concerned for him, but Yuuri can see how badly he's trembling.

"Forgive me, Yuuri, are you alri-"

"I'm fine," Yuuri interrupts, trying to keep his voice steady. "Don't worry about me. I'm not afraid anymore."

Viktor gapes at him, uncomprehending.

"I know what you've done," Yuuri repeats. "It doesn't frighten me. I know that your actions have cost one thousand lives."

"Nine hundred and ninety-nine," Viktor corrects him, looking stricken and sounding numb.

Yuuri smiles sadly at him. He's made up his mind.

"No."

*

For the second time, Yuuri is ripped from his grasp.

It happens in the blink of an eye. One moment he's before him, speaking words that strike fear into Viktor's soul. Then he's gone. He's gone, and Viktor is left alone in the middle of a suddenly empty ballroom. His guests are gone. And he knows why.

He bursts from the doors, shooting up through the ceiling, through all the floors, searching desperately. 

They've taken him. They've taken Yuuri away from him.

They've taken him, because Yuuri has made his decision. He's made his decision, and there's nothing Viktor can do about it. There's nothing anyone can do about it. Nothing except watch. And wait.

He knows that the second Yuuri had decided what he meant to do, a pulse had been felt around the manor. Viktor knows, because he had felt it too. Every ghost knew. And they had so cruelly taken him, taken him the same way they had the day that Viktor had frightened him back into the woods. Christophe had taken him that time, and his guests had guided him, opening doors and removing obstacles, pushing him forward in gales and gusts, lifting him and carrying him until he was exactly where he wanted to be.

Viktor suddenly knows. He knows where they've taken him. Rather, he knows where Yuuri has asked to be taken.

He moves faster, up and up and up, and when he finally sets his feet on solid ground, he sees him.

It's raining.

It's raining, and the room is damp and stirring, because the window is still broken.

Yuuri stands before it. He turns to him, and the moon behind him is so bright that Viktor can hardly see his face.

"Yuuri?"

There's a silence. Viktor is paralyzed. He isn't sure if it's voluntary or not, and he doesn't want to test it. He stares at Yuuri, terrified and waiting.

In the silence, he hears Madame Lilia's voice.

_"The mortal has made his choice. A thousand lives for yours."_

"No," Viktor whispers, "no, _please._ "

How selfish, he thinks suddenly. To withhold the freedom of his prisoners for the sake of one boy. A boy that could never truly be his. There's no escaping his selfishness. His cowardice. There's nothing he can do.

Nothing except watch. And wait.

Viktor nearly weeps when Yuuri finally speaks.

"I should have recognized my feelings from the very start. I should have known. I should have known that you loved me, and that I loved you as well."

Viktor wishes that these words could bring him joy. But all he feels is panic, a hysteria that rises within him as Yuuri continues.

"I'm selfish."

Viktor blinks. Yuuri? Selfish?

"No, Yuuri, you aren't-"

"Yes. I am. I'm selfish. How much sooner could these souls have been released had it not been for my cowardice? How much happier would everyone be? All the happy haunts here have welcomed me kindly. They've become dear to me, and this is how I have repaid them? No, I'm selfish."

Viktor realizes something that he prays will work.

"You haven't sinned, Yuuri. You're a pure soul. You've done nothing wrong."

Yuuri's laugh is devoid of joy. It's full of self-loathing.

"But I have. The souls here are not the only ones who have suffered due to my carelessness. My family. How much sooner could I have returned to them? I could have left this place sooner. Even with my injury, I could have left. I _should_ have left. I should have begged you to let me go. I should have begged any mortal brought here to help me escape. I should have stolen away in one of the many carriages that have traveled to and from this mansion. But I stayed. I stayed to be with you. I abandoned my family. They had once thought me dead, and now they think that I'll never return. That I've found the city life much better than anything they could ever provide. How many have suffered by my selfish actions? And how can anyone say that my soul is unblemished?"

Viktor shakes his head slowly, disbelieving, his panic mounting into something frenzied. He knows that there's nothing he can say to sway the boy's scathing opinion of himself. There's nothing he can do but watch. And wait.

There's a short pause.

"I'm sorry," Yuuri says, his voice cracking. "I'm sorry for all the trouble I've caused. I'm sorry that you're stuck, that you're cursed. If there's another lifetime, a chance for every broken soul to start anew, I've done nothing but waste time. I should have helped you all sooner. I should have saved you all sooner."

A thrill runs throughout the room. Viktor can tell that every ghost is watching. He feels ill. How can he tell Yuuri that he isn't sure if breaking the curse would save anyone but himself? He realizes that Yuuri wouldn't care. He'd take the risk, because no matter what he says, his soul is pure.

Pure, but willing.

Is that possible?

Yuuri steps backwards slowly, and in a flash of lightning, Viktor can see his face. He's crying.

"Please wait for me," he whispers.

When he falls back, Viktor's body finally moves, and he rushes forward, but his hands flicker, ghosting through Yuuri's own.

He's warm. So warm.

But not for long.

*

He looks up at the beautiful night sky as he falls. The moon is full and bright. The stars wink at him. They know.

Yuuri closes his eyes. He thinks of his family. He thinks of his friends. He thinks of Viktor.

He thinks of home.

_"I promise I'll follow you home."_

He shivers. The rain is so cold.

*

*

"Where are you going now?"

Yuuri freezes, one foot out the door of their cottage. His sister has her hands on her hips, and she's looking at him with a knowing grin.

"I'm riding to the city. It's nothing to worry about, Mari."

Mari laughs.

"Well, you mustn't forget these, then."

She presses a bouquet of lovely flowers from their garden into his hands. She insists that this is the best way to steal a young lover's heart. Yuuri knows.

The morning sun is bright and warm, and he and Vicchan make their way down the sunlight-dappled path through the woods. Yuuri is too busy admiring the view to pay attention to where they're going. He doesn't mind. Vicchan seems to know the way.

The gargoyles atop the iron gates don't frighten him. He finds them very reassuring, as if they were old friends greeting him. How odd. The cobblestone road is lovely, the shrubbery well-kept, and he nearly hears a song within the cheerful splashing of water from the many grand fountains.

He dismounts, leaving Vicchan to wander and graze. He knows that someone will take care of him.

When he approaches the doors, they swing open, and Yuuri would have thought that they had done so on their own had it not been for the man now standing before him.

He's tall and very handsome, with laughing blue eyes and sweeping silver hair. Something about him makes Yuuri's soul cry out, and he swears he hears an answer. Yuuri steps into the foyer to approach him.

"Are you the Master of this mansion?"

The man smiles at him. His eyes trail to the bouquet of flowers Yuuri suddenly remembers he's holding. The man takes them gently, laying them down carefully on the stand beside him. There are many other flowers there, blooming beautifully within their delicate glass vases. White lilies. The man turns to him again.

"Yes. I am. Welcome, esteemed guest, to the Nikiforov Manor."

"My name is Yuuri Katsuki," he blurts. This makes his host's smile widen.

"Yuuri," he repeats, and the way it rolls off his tongue makes Yuuri feel weak.

"And your name?"

"Viktor," the man says, laughing. "Viktor Nikiforov."

Yuuri steps forward without warning, but Viktor seems to expect it. Yuuri's hand reaches forward tentatively, and when his fingers brush against Viktor's cheek, he gasps. He gasps because Viktor is so solid and warm. He presses his fingers against firm and resisting skin, softly indented under his touch, but solid and real. And warm. So warm. Yuuri shivers, and Viktor laughs.

"Cold already?"

Yuuri presses closer, and when he feels Viktor's hands squeeze his waist, he shudders again. What a strange sensation. He's being touched. He's being touched by something real. His sigh is nearly a soft moan as their bodies press together hard, and Yuuri tangles his fingers into soft silver strands as their lips meet.

He feels a fire in his mouth, a liquid heat running through his veins, and he can't control his hands anymore. They're grabbing, gripping, grasping, wanting to touch every part of Viktor that's real. Viktor returns the feeling with vigor, deepening their kiss and squeezing Yuuri tighter, his hold firm and steady. So firm. Large and firm hands, keeping him steady. Yuuri nearly swoons.

They finally pull away, and Viktor's eyes look so beautiful in the sunlight. So real. So alive.

They haven't let each other go. Yuuri hopes that they never will.

But they have to, because something large and furry and solid nearly bowls them over. Yuuri falls easily. His ankle isn't what it used to be.

Viktor catches him quickly, laughing as he tries to shove away the overexcited dog that had catapulted itself into them.

"Makkachin!" Yuuri scolds him playfully. Viktor looks amazed. Yuuri isn't sure how he knew the dog's name, either.

A sharp whistle has Makkachin running back into the manor. Yuuri sees a young man with long blonde hair approach. He braces himself for the scowl that's about to be directed at him.

Sure enough, the boy scowls _and_ glares at him. Yuuri is almost pleased at the sight of his piercing green eyes.

"The two of you are embarrassing. Do you know nothing of privacy?"

Viktor seems extremely happy to see him.

"This fine and polite gentleman is my younger brother, Yuri. And this is-"

"I know who he is," Yuri says with a scoff. "You never shut up about him." He pauses, frowning at himself. He looks puzzled. Yuuri is also puzzled.

"Well," Viktor says, turning back to Yuuri, "forgive my rudeness. Welcome to my manor. I will be your host, if you will allow it."

"Yes," Yuuri says softly, "there's much I would like to see."

Viktor claps his hands together, looking delighted.

"Excellent! We've nine hundred and ninety-nine happy tenants in this mansion. But there's room for a thousand!"


End file.
